


For Every Good Reason

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Crack Treated Seriously, Developing Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-21 03:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11348841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: “Apparently, the powers that be at 1PP, 1 Hogan Place and City Hall think it would be good PR if you and I were to maintain the fictional relationship alluded to in theJournalprofile,” Barba said.Carisi gaped at him. “Is this a joke?”Barba rolled his eyes. “God, I wish it was,” he muttered.





	1. The Article

**Author's Note:**

> Why is it that every time I set out to write something short and fluffy, it turns into something else entirely?
> 
> Anyway, my outline predicts this will end up being 8 chapters. We'll see if that ends up being true. Aiming to update once a week, but. No guarantees.
> 
> Title is from a Bo Bennett quote: "For every good reason there is to lie, there is a better reason to tell the truth."
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

A late night spent closing a case followed by no new case the next day had left Carisi half-asleep at his desk in the middle of the afternoon, nodding off into the hand propping his chin up. He probably would've actually fallen asleep if wasn't for someone, out of nowhere, slamming a newspaper down on his desk, suspiciously close to his head. “Jesus,” he said, startling into full wakefulness and staring wildly around, relaxing only slightly when he saw who the culprit was. “Christ, Barba, you almost gave me a heart attack.” He glanced down at the newspaper. “ _The New York Journal_? You bringing me some light reading, Counselor?”

Barba looked almost as tired as Carisi felt and not even slightly amused. “Do you remember the profile on me that the New York State Bar Association Journal ran a few months ago?”

“No, but then again, I don’t have an encyclopedic knowledge of your various press clippings,” Carisi said with a grin, which faltered slightly when Barba didn't even crack a smile. “Why?”

“It got picked up by the _Journal_ ,” Barba told him, his voice unusually stiff.

Carisi stared at him. “Are you here to brag?” he asked, trying to figure out where Barba was going with this. “Though, I mean, good job getting picked up by the _Journal_ , I guess. Not sure why they would want to write about you, but…”

The corners of Barba’s mouth twitched. “It’s a human interest story,” he said. “Local boy from _el_ _barrio_ makes good, brings justice to the community, etcetera, etcetera. But that’s not the point. The _Journal_ ’s reporter decided to expand on the original profile and took a little...artistic license.”

“Artistic license?” Carisi asked, unable to keep the smile off his face. “What lies did they make up about you, Barba? It’s gotta be something good for you to be freaking out.” Barba’s expression tightened and he wordlessly flipped the paper open to the proper page, and Carisi quickly scanned the article.

All things considered, it was a fairly decent profile — carefully neutral and striking a good balance between criticizing and praising Barba’s close relationship with the NYPD, including his handling of the Terrence Reynolds case. Carisi glanced back up at Barba, not entirely sure what he was missing. “It’s not a bad profile,” he offered.

Barba just shook his head. “Keep reading,” he said, his voice grim.

Carisi looked back at the article, and then saw it, buried almost at the end of the article, a throw-away line that he had skipped over entirely on first reading. “On the subject of his personal life, Mr. Barba, though openly bisexual, maintains that his private life is private. However, multiple sources confirm that Mr. Barba is in a long-term relationship with NYPD Detective Dominick ‘Sonny’ Carisi, Jr. of Manhattan’s Special Victims Unit,” he read out loud, his eyes widening, and he looked back up at Barba with something like horror in his expression. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“I know that,” Barba snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose as if hoping it would ward off the same headache that Carisi could feel building in his own temples. “But that doesn't change the fact that it's out there, in print, in the sixth-most-circulated newspaper in the continental US.”

“Oh, shit,” Carisi said, panic beginning to set in. “My grandparents subscribe to the _Journal_.”

Barba looked grim. “As does the Mayor, the DA, and I’m imagining the Police Commissioner.” He paused, his expression pained. “Not to mention my mother.”

Under normal circumstances, Carisi might’ve laughed or made a joke at that, but frankly, nothing felt particularly funny at the moment. “Since we’re, uh, definitely not dating, can't we, like, get them to print a retraction?” he asked, almost hopefully.

Before Barba could answer — before, judging by the look on his face, he could tell Carisi just how naïve he was for even asking that — Barba’s cellphone rang and he scowled at it. “It's the DA,” he told Sonny. “This ought to be fun.”

With that, he took the call and strode purposefully out of the squad room while listening to whatever the DA was saying to him, brushing past Olivia and Chief Dodds with barely a nod as they walked in, neither of them smiling. “Carisi, my office,” Olivia said in lieu of a greeting, and Carisi knew better than to ask if she’d seen the article.

“Chief, Lieutenant, I can explain,” Carisi said, panicked, as Olivia closed the door after him. “We’re not dating. Barba and I, I mean. We aren't — we wouldn't—”

“Relax, Det. Carisi,” Dodds said, sitting down and gesturing for Carisi to join him, though both Carisi and Olivia remained standing. “You're not in trouble here.”

Carisi glanced at Olivia, who didn't look so convinced. “No offense, Chief, but I can’t imagine getting called into a meeting like this if I wasn’t in trouble, and I promise, Barba and I are not and have never dated.”

Olivia cleared her throat. “I informed 1PP in no uncertain terms that you were not involved romantically with Barba, and that’s not the issue.”

She hesitated as if she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say next, and Dodds took over from there. “The issue is whether you’d be willing to.”

Carisi stared blankly at Dodds. “Whether I’d be willing to what?”

“Would you be willing to date ADA Barba?” Dodds clarified, though to Carisi, the clarification confused him more than the initial question, and he just gaped at Dodds, who exchanged a look with Olivia. “The phones at 1PP haven’t stopped ringing since the profile was published, and the vast majority of the calls have been overwhelmingly positive, including from some very influential groups and individuals. People seem to love the idea of a gay cop dating a gay prosecutor.”

“Barba’s not gay,” Carisi said automatically, quickly adding, “He’s bi, but that’s not really the point—”

Dodds' expression didn’t change. “No, the point is that the NYPD desperately needs some good publicity, especially given the incident in the 74th Precinct last month.”

“Incident?” Carisi said sharply, knowing exactly what Dodds was referring to — two off-duty Brooklyn patrol officers who jumped their gay colleague and beat him within an inch of his life. “That was a hate crime, Chief.”

“Exactly,” Dodds said, equally sharp. “And that’s why the police commissioner needs to appease the LGBT community. And the kind of publicity that this could end up generating may help do exactly that.”

Carisi opened his mouth to respond, to protest, to tell Dodds he was out of his goddamn mind, to tell him _something_ , when a knock sounded on the door and Barba let himself in, a dour expression on his face. “Lieutenant, Chief,” he said, nodding in greeting, but Carisi noticed the tension in his shoulders and the way he crossed his arms in front of his chest, both of which told him that the phone call with the DA had not gone well. “I just had a very interesting conversation with the DA.”

Carisi shot Barba a concerned look, but Dodds nodded like he knew exactly what Barba’s conversation had been about. “Good, I’m glad the DA explained the situation to you. I was just about to fill Carisi in.”

“Fill me in on what?” Carisi asked, aimed mostly at Olivia, who had been suspiciously silent this entire time, but it was Barba who answered, his tone inscrutable.

“Apparently, the powers that be at 1PP, 1 Hogan Place and City Hall think it would be good PR if you and I were to maintain the fictional relationship alluded to in the _Journal_ profile.”

Carisi gaped at him, half-convinced that this was all some kind of dream, that he had actually fallen asleep at his desk and this was his brain’s way of punishing him for too many late nights recently. But Barba, Dodds and Olivia were all looking at him expectantly, and whether it was a dream or not, there was only thing he could say: “Is this a joke?”

Olivia and Dodds exchanged a look and Barba rolled his eyes. “God, I wish it was,” he muttered.

“Seriously,” Carisi continued, ignoring Barba. “I mean, it was one line in an article most people aren't even gonna read. I totally missed it on my first read through. Aren't we making this into something bigger than it is?”

He looked almost pleadingly between Barba and Olivia, the two he could count on to be the voices of reason. But it was Dodds who answered. “It wouldn't be anything elaborate,” he told Carisi, as if _that_ had been his concern. “A few joint public appearances at important events, a couple key interviews discussing how NYPD supports its LGBT officers, and once the attention dies down, that’ll be the end of it.”

Carisi finally did sink into the other chair in Olivia’s office, mostly because he wasn't sure his knees would keep supporting him otherwise. “What about the conflict of interest?” he asked weakly, casting onto the last remaining hope he had that this farce would end before it even started.

“The DA is understandably prepared to waive conflict of interest,” Barba said, a little curtly. “Obviously there are disclosure documents we’d have to file, but I imagine 1PP would be more than willing to backdate those accordingly.”

Dodds looked amenable to that and Olivia again cleared her throat, her expression almost concerned as she told Carisi, “I want to emphasize, you don’t have to agree to this. For whatever reason you may have. Your association rep will be all over 1PP if it comes out and they try to hold it against you.”

Though Carisi nodded, a little dazed, Barba cleared his throat as he added, with forced levity, “Since we’re coming up on an election year, I’m not entirely sure the DA can make me the same promise, especially if this gets him his expected poll bump.”

Dodds laughed, but he was the only one who did. Carisi was still staring at Olivia as if she might somehow be able to rescue him from all of this, but she just shook her head slightly, as if to tell him that it was out of her hands. Barba cleared his throat a second time. “Perhaps Det. Carisi and I should talk privately for a few moments,” he suggested.

“Of course,” Dodds said, standing. “Take all the time you need.”

He crossed to the door and held it open for Olivia, and if she was at all perturbed at getting kicked out of her own office, she didn't show it. Barba huffed a sigh as Dodds closed the door behind him with a snap, and sat down in Dodds’ vacated seat, looking closely at Carisi. “I’m sorry,” he offered, almost tentatively, and Carisi glanced over at him, confused.

“What’re you sorry for?” he asked. “You didn’t put the _Journal_ up to this, or 1PP or whoever. You’re as much a—” He broke off, not wanting to use the word ‘victim’ with all it implied. Especially since Carisi was anything but a victim here. “— _a_ ffected by this as I am.”

Barba shrugged. “I may be affected, but less so than you. Is it an ideal circumstance? No.” He made a face. “But I already know the worst things people say about me, and while this will hardly improve my reputation, there’s little that can be done to make it worse. You, on the other hand…” He trailed off and shrugged again. “I’m sorry for whatever role I played in putting you in this position, and especially for the hit this will undoubtedly have on your career.”

Carisi stared blankly at him. “My career?” he asked, because honestly, the thought of his career hadn’t even entered his mind. “What about my career?”

Barba was again looking at Carisi like he was naïve. “Liv can talk a big game about the Detectives’ Endowment Association having your back, but 1PP will remember whatever you decide to do come promotion time,” he said flatly. “And if you do decide to go along with this, there are plenty of your fellow officers who’ll assume you’re sleeping your way up the ranks or worse.”

“Touched as I am by your concern,” Carisi started, because he was, something warm that he refused to give a name to curling in his chest as he looked at Barba, “I don’t think my fellow officers will see this as sleeping my way up the ranks. Sleeping with the enemy, on the other hand...”

Barba snorted. “You have a point there,” he muttered, settling back in his seat and giving Carisi an appraising look. “But in either case, what your brothers in blue think of you matters, and the last thing I would want is for this to have an adverse effect on you — especially since I’m essentially under orders from the DA and therefore you’re more or less doing me a favor by going along with this.”

“A favor?” Carisi asked, unable to stop the teasing edge to his voice. “Here I just assumed I was supposed to be the lucky one in this scenario, Counselor, getting to date you.”

Though Barba laughed lightly, something tightened in his face before he sighed and said, mockingly rueful, “If only more people had the same enthusiasm, I wouldn’t have to rely on 1PP and City Hall to procure dates for me.” Carisi laughed as well and Barba half-smiled before stating, “But it’s entirely up to you as to whether or not we do this.”

Carisi thought of the million and a half reasons why this was an absolutely terrible idea, but Barba was looking at him with something like...well, Carisi wouldn’t dare call it hope, but at the very least anticipation over the prospect of dating him, even if just for show, and Carisi couldn’t find it in himself to share any of those reasons. “Might as well,” he said bracingly. “If you think you can put up with me for that long, anyway.”

The corners of Barba’s mouth twitched. “If I value my job, it appears I have no choice,” he said with an unnecessarily melodramatic sigh. With that, he stood and crossed to the door, opening it and beckoning Dodds and Olivia back inside. “Despite our better judgment, Det. Carisi and I have agreed to participate in this charade.”

“Excellent,” Dodds said briskly. “I’ll just need your signature on this form here—”

Without hesitation, Barba quickly scrawled his signature on the proferred form and handed it back to Dodds before nodding at Olivia and switching his gaze to Carisi. “Detective. We’ll discuss details later. I’m due in court.”

Then he was gone, leaving without another word and with Carisi staring after him. Dodds held the form out to Carisi. “Detective, it’s your turn.”

Before Carisi could even take the form, however, Dodds got a call on his cellphone, and he frowned at it. “It’s 1PP,” he told Olivia, setting the form on her desk. “Carisi, sign this and get it to my office by the end of the day.” He answered his phone, heading towards the door. “This is Dodds. Mhmm. Mhmm. Interview requests?” He paused and made a face. “What’s a Buzzfeed and why do they want an interview?”

When he was gone as well, Olivia turned to Carisi, something like sympathy in her expression. “Are you ok with this?” she asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Carisi scoffed, though he didn’t quite meet her eyes. “It’s good for NYPD, it’s good for the DA — no one can accuse me of not being a team player.” He shrugged. “Besides, it’s just another undercover assignment, you know?”

Olivia didn’t look convinced. “And what about certain feelings you used to have for Barba?”

For one wild moment, Carisi thought about denying it, but Olivia was giving him a knowing look and he knew he’d never manage convince her otherwise. “Oh, uh, you know about that?” he asked, chuckling weakly, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s nothing, Lieu. A little crush. I got over it ages ago.”

“Ok,” Olivia said, sitting down at her desk and using the tone of voice she used when she didn’t believe perps or victims, “and if it ends up being more than just a little crush?”

Carisi just shook his head and bent over Olivia’s desk to sign the form, trying to make his signature far more decisive than he personally felt. “It won’t,” he said shortly. “And now I gotta call my parents. And my grandparents. And my sisters. And tell them...something. I dunno what yet.”

Olivia laughed lightly. “Good luck,” she said. “I’ll make sure this gets to Dodds.”

Carisi nodded his thanks and ducked out of her office, pulling out his cellphone but making no attempt to actually call any of his family members, immediate or extended. Instead, he slumped into his desk chair and stared almost vacantly at his cellphone, trying to keep from texting Barba, even if he didn’t really have anything to say.

He hadn’t lied to Olivia. Not really. It _was_ just a crush.

But Rafael Barba wasn’t someone he could just get over, no matter how much he’d tried over the past few years, and Carisi was beginning to get a very bad feeling that this whole thing was going to make getting over Barba a hell of a lot harder.


	2. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Before I forget,” Barba started, his voice a little too casual to be genuine, “how did coming out to Dets. Tutuola and Rollins go?”
> 
> Carisi paused, taking in the crease that had settled between Barba’s eyebrows, and realized Barba was actually concerned. “Fine,” he said, hesitating before adding, “But Rollins said she’ll kill you if you break my heart. And Fin said he’d hide the body.”
> 
> Barba relaxed slightly at Carisi’s answer. “You know, I’m supposed to be taking threats more seriously these days, even if they come from cops,” he told Carisi, deadpan, though there was a smile in his eyes. “I may have to update threat assessment.”
> 
> “Why, you planning on breaking my heart, Counselor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally meant to be a part of the next chapter, but then it got too long, so forgive the lack of actual plot progression here.

“Can I help you with something, Detective, or were you planning on lingering in my doorway for the rest of the day?”

Barba’s voice was measured and he barely even glanced up when Carisi appeared in his doorway. Carisi jerked his shoulders in a shrug, and pointedly stayed right where he was, even leaning against the doorjamb. “Just wanted to take a moment to look at my ‘boyfriend’, since I haven’t seen him in days.” He didn’t think Barba would appreciate air quotes so his hands stayed firmly in his pockets while he relied solely on his caustic tone to convey his meaning.

Barba looked up at that, irritation flashing across his face before being replaced by something Carisi couldn’t quite read. “I had a busy court schedule,” he offered, as something like an apology, or even a peace offering.

“No you didn’t.”

Barba’s eyes narrowed. “Did you call Carmen to verify that?” he asked.

“No,” Carisi said, before adding, mainly because he couldn’t stop himself, “But I had Rollins call her.”

A small smile lifted the corners of Barba’s mouth and he shook his head. “I should have guessed.” He sat back in his chair and looked at Carisi appraisingly. “If you’re waiting on an apology, I hope your shoes are comfortable because you’ll be on your feet for a long time.”

Now Carisi did step into Barba’s office, his expression souring. “Really?” he asked. “That’s all you’re gonna give me? When I’ve spent the last few days coming out to my family and coworkers just to maintain this charade and my fake-boyfriend couldn’t even bother to call or text or send an email?”

Barba’s forehead creased. “Kindly close the door behind you if you’re going to yell at me,” he said mildly. Carisi rolled his eyes but complied, closing the door with perhaps more force than necessary behind him. “And while I’m certain that your week has also been stressful, I’ve been drowning in media requests and I’d like to remind you that a phone works both ways.”

Carisi stilled, because he honestly hadn’t thought of that, that Barba might have needed his support as much as Carisi had needed — or at least hoped for — Barba’s. “I texted you the link to the Buzzfeed article,” he said, a little weakly, as he dropped into the chair across from Barba.

“Because _that_ was what I needed to see first thing in the morning,” Barba said dryly, rolling his eyes.

Carisi winced in agreement, silence stretching between them as they both fell to brooding on the article in question. For Carisi, he had made the fatal mistake of relaxing in the days that followed the initial profile, had even made the age-old mistake of hoping (or wishing, or dreaming) that the whole thing might blow over.

Instead, it went viral.

Dodds, having apparently figured out what Buzzfeed was, sent the website the same generic statement of support that all the outlets received, but some overeager Buzzfeed staffer, apparently on a break from making yet another listicle, had done a little digging and thrown together an article about their ‘relationship’ complete with a gif of Carisi and Barba walking down the courthouse steps together, apparently pulled from the background of some TV report or other, and a picture of the two of them walking together in the courthouse. The article had been retweeted and reposted across the internet, and Carisi was getting very tired of seeing that particular picture.

Out of context, the picture definitely made it look like something else was happening, which was probably what helped the article go viral in the first place. Both men were smiling and Barba’s hand was resting on Carisi’s back, and if Carisi had been unaware of the context, he too might’ve believed that it was, as Buzzfeed proclaimed, “the only good thing to happen in a New York City courthouse”.

But Carisi knew the truth behind the picture: Barba’s hand was only on his back because he had just patted Carisi’s back condescendingly after it had taken Carisi a few minutes to figure out why Barba had made the motion he did in court. And Barba’s smirk was certainly not “loving” as the article proclaimed — it was smug. Carisi’s smile, on the other hand, was triumphant in that picture, impressed with himself for figuring it out, and would be replaced by a mock-scowl about .5 seconds after the picture was taken as he pretended to be hurt that Barba was making fun of him.

“At least you looked good in the picture,” Carisi offered, and Barba’s eyes flew up to meet his, looking almost started by the words. “I mean, that pink tie is one of my favorites.”

Barba half-smiled, though his expression was still slightly guarded. “Fishing for a compliment, Detective?” he asked. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out of nice things to say about that particular tie you were wearing. Speaking of—” Barba was clearly changing the subject, and Carisi decided to let him. “What are you wearing to the DA’s fundraiser tonight?”

“Worried I’ll embarrass you in front of your friends?” Carisi asked.

Barba’s eyebrows raised slightly and he gave Carisi a look like he really shouldn’t make it so easy for Barba to mock him. “Perpetually. But that doesn’t answer my question.” Carisi rolled his eyes and held his arms out from his sides, looking pointedly down at the suit he had worn to work. Barba’s brow furrowed. “What, that? You didn’t bring anything else to change into?”

Carisi looked down at himself again, frowning. “This is the nicest suit I own,” he said, a little defensively, because he had chosen it on purpose, knowing that he wanted to look good for their first official appearance as a ‘couple’. “And you told me that it was black tie optional.”

“Black tie optional doesn’t actually _mean_ black tie optional,” Barba huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, sorry, Counselor, but not all of us attend Harvard alumni-sponsored galas in our space time,” Carisi shot back, rankled less by the comments about his clothes, since Barba had been mocking Carisi’s outfits since they first met, and more that Barba seemed to be implying that Carisi didn’t look good enough to be seen with him.

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

As if following Carisi’s train of thought, Barba’s expression softened slightly. “Stand up,” he ordered, and Carisi was too startled by the command to not follow it. “Now spin. Slowly, please.

“Is there an actual point to this, or do you just want to check me out?” Carisi asked, feeling foolish even as he complied.

Barba didn’t dignify that with a response. “The suit will do, but the tie is all wrong,” he said instead, standing and loosening his own tie, a surprisingly subdued black number with silver stripes. “Here.” Carisi stared down at the proffered tie with a confused expression and Barba rolled his eyes. “Do I have to walk you through how to tie a tie?”

Carisi blushed slightly and he grabbed the tie, pulling the knot of his own one-handed. “And with your tie, my outfit will be deemed acceptable?” he asked, too surprised to be as waspish as he intended. “Aren’t you gonna need your tie?”

Barba nodded towards a black garment bag that Carisi hadn’t previously noticed hanging from the door. “Of course not,” he said. “I’ll be wearing a bow tie with my tux.” He paused as Carisi turned to the face the window, to use the glass as a mirror to make sure he didn’t completely fuck up something as simple as tying a tie in front of Barba. “How did coming out to your family go, by the way?” Barba asked, something like reconciliation in the question.

Carisi shrugged, not looking away from his reflection. “As well as could be expected. My parents and sisters already knew I was gay, so that wasn’t the big surprise for them.”

His lips quirked in a smile, because it _had_ gone well, all things considered. “In the newspaper, Sonny?” his mother had wailed over the phone while Carisi could hear his father hang up the other line to avoid being a part of this. “We had to find out you’re dating someone _in the newspaper_? What happened to picking up the phone and calling your mother to tell her you’ve met a nice boy? Is he Catholic? When do we get to meet him?”

“I totally called it,” Bella had said, her tone unbearably smug. “And now Tommy has to take me out for dinner because he told me I was imagining things!”

And, after the most awkward explanation of his life, his grandma had calmly asked, “Are you trying to tell us you’re one of those gays, dear? Because that's fine. Do you remember Mrs. Manzella, our next door neighbor when we lived on Chestnut St., God rest her soul? Her grandson’s one of those gays, too — nicest boy, though not nearly as handsome as that man from the paper. Don't you think, Francis? Francis? Francis, are you awake?” (Carisi’s grandfather had seemingly taken the phone call and his grandson’s coming out as an opportunity to take a nap).

Carisi smoothed a hand down the tie and squinted as his faint reflection. He had to admit to himself that Barba was right and the tie looked much better, casting a more formal air to his suit. Not that he was going to give Barba the satisfaction of saying that out loud. Instead, as he turned back to Barba, he told him casually, “I have a list of questions that my mother has for you, though.”

Barba looked taken aback, and something like panic flared in his eyes, the expression so foreign to Carisi that he almost laughed. “She does?” he asked, his voice higher-pitched than usual.

Carisi merely raised an eyebrow at him, not willing to let him off the hook so soon. “Well, yeah, she’d kinda like to get to know the guy dating her only son. And they’re questions that, like, I should probably know about you if we’re going to actually pull this off.” If Barba relaxed at that, he didn’t show it, his eyes still a little too wide and his shoulders a little too tense, and Carisi couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face because he _recognized_ this look, even if he had never expected to see it on Barba’s face. “When was the last time you actually met a significant other’s parents?”

Barba’s expression shifted from panicked to affronted so quickly that Carisi could hardly track the change. “That’s not the point,” he huffed, looking up at the clock. “And since I highly doubt you’re going to want me to meet your parents, Detective, and since I need to get changed if we’re going to make it to the fundraiser at an acceptable time, why don’t we save your mother’s list of questions for the fundraiser.”

It was less a question than a command, and Carisi shrugged. “Fine with me,” he said. “At least it’ll make for interesting conversation.”

“Because of all the things to worry about tonight, conversation was high on your list?” Barba asked, arching an eyebrow at him. “You and I have very different priorities.”

“Clearly, since you were the one concerned about my tie,” Carisi returned, a little sourly.

Barba smiled slightly at that. “And now you look very nice.” He looked at the clock again. “And personally, I’m just hoping you don’t do something foolish like spill on yourself between now and the fundraiser. Speaking of, if you want to meet me back here at 7, we can head over together.”

Again, there was no real question there and Carisi shrugged in acquiescence. “Sounds good,” he said, as if he had another option, and he started towards the door. “I’ll see you back here then.”

“Before I forget,” Barba started, rising from his chair and unbuttoning the top button of his now tie-free shirt, his voice a little too casual to be genuine, “how did coming out to Dets. Tutuola and Rollins go?”

Carisi paused, taking in the crease that had settled between Barba’s eyebrows, and realized Barba was actually concerned. “Fine,” he said, hesitating before adding, “But Rollins said she’ll kill you if you break my heart. And Fin said he’d hide the body.”

He hadn’t really planned on telling Barba that, to even jokingly imply that his heart was on the line here. He definitely was _not_ going to tell Barba how Fin had just sighed and not even looked up from his computer as he muttered, “Finally”, while Rollins had mostly echoed the sentiment, after yelling at Carisi for not telling her sooner (he soothed her hurt feelings by offering to babysit Jesse and then, when she still wasn't mollified, by offering to take her out to the bar and get her plastered. She hadn’t taken him up on either, yet, but it was only a matter of time).

The worst part had been Rollins giving him a surprising hug at the end of that first day, her grip just a little too tight. “I’m so happy for you,” she had told him, sincerely, and Carisi had barely managed to give her a weak smile.

It would probably end up breaking her heart almost as much as his when this whole thing was over.

But Barba had relaxed slightly at Carisi’s answer. “You know, I’m supposed to be taking threats more seriously these days, even if they come from cops,” he told Carisi, deadpan, though there was a smile in his eyes. “I may have to update threat assessment.”

“Why, you planning on breaking my heart, Counselor?”

Barba just rolled his eyes. “I don’t think anyone plans on breaking someone’s heart,” he said dryly. “But I do plan on getting ready for this evening, so kindly vacate my office.”

It was a clear dismissal, but Carisi hesitated nonetheless, though whatever he wanted to say died on his tongue as Barba glanced up at him, irritated. Instead, he ducked his head and verified, “Meet you back here at 7?”

Barba nodded, his eyes dropping back to the casefile open on his desk, and Carisi turned and left, glancing at his watch to see if he had time to run back to the precinct before coming back to Barba’s office. He really didn’t, but what he did have was enough time to grab a drink from the bar down the street from Barba’s office.

He needed a drink, partially to ease his nerves for the DA’s fundraiser. But mainly, he needed a drink because while Barba may not have any plans to break his heart, Carisi was sure as shit planning on his heart getting broken nonetheless.


	3. The DA's Fundraiser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barba looked up at Carisi, his forehead creased. “In retrospect, bringing you to a party full of vultures was probably not the best choice for our first public appearance,” he said, his voice quiet and a little apologetic.
> 
> “I don’t mind,” Carisi said automatically. “Though, uh, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you choose this as our first public appearance?”
> 
> “The DA insisted, as much as he can insist on something like this," Barba said. “And since normally the only thing I bring the DA is grief, it seemed like the least I could do.” He met Carisi’s eyes. “I am sorry you have to be dragged along into this, though.”
> 
> Carisi shrugged. “There are worse ways to spend an evening,” he said, conciliatorily. “I mean, I was expecting a lot worse from a crowd of mostly lawyers and judges, but this has been...almost nice.”
> 
> The words surprised him almost as they surprised Barba, who looked amused. “What were you expecting, torture?” he asked archly.

Maybe it was the two boilermakers he downed before returning to Barba’s office, or maybe it was just that he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the fundraiser, but Carisi managed to make it through the first twenty minutes after their arrival without making a complete fool of himself. For the most part, Barba steered him through the tastefully decorated hotel ballroom, introducing him to relevant people, his large hand splayed against Carisi’s lower back, and Carisi tried not to lean too far into the touch.

Barba seemed far more relaxed than Carisi, his nerves only apparent in who he purposefully avoided, sharing a nod with the DA and a man he identified in an undertone to Carisi as the president of the Patrolmen’s Benevolent Association but making no effort to head in their direction. “Doesn’t the DA want to meet me?” Carisi asked, mostly teasing.

“I’m sure he does,” Barba said, slightly strained. “That doesn’t mean you need to meet him. At least, not under these circumstances.” Instead, he steered Carisi towards the open bar, remarking in a far more normal tone, “Besides, I’d kill for a drink.”

On the way to the bar, Carisi got distracted by the display of appetizers and told Barba to get him a drink while he went to get himself a plate of fancy finger food, most of which he couldn’t even identify at first (or second, or third) glance. Still, he loaded up on everything and rejoined Barba, who had snagged a table, a glass of scotch in front of himself and a beer waiting for Carisi. “Thanks,” he told Barba, his mouth full of some kind of crab puff.

Barba’s eyebrows raised as he watched Carisi eat. “You do know you’re allowed to get seconds, right?”

Carisi rolled his eyes and ignored him. “It’d be nice if they had labeled the food,” he said. “I guess it was too much to hope for something normal like, I dunno, mozzarella sticks.”

“Considering this fundraiser started at $200 a plate, yes, I’d think that it would be too much to hope for mozzarella sticks,” Barba said with dry incredulity. “And if we actually stay for the dinner portion, try not to be disappointed in your aged ribeye no matter how much you were hoping for chicken parmesan.”

Carisi swallowed and frowned at Barba. “ _If_ we stay?” he asked, helping himself to a bite of baked brie next. “You trying to cut out early, Counselor?”

Barba shrugged, and as immaculate as he looked in his tux, Carisi couldn’t help but note that he also looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I hate events like these,” Barba muttered, draining his scotch. “Normally I wouldn’t even bother coming, but on the rare occasion that I have to, I make the rounds and then leave as soon as possible.”

“That’ll make it pretty difficult when you run for office one day,” Carisi said mildly, nibbling carefully on the corner of some kind of bite-sized pastry. “I don’t think you’re allowed to leave early when it’s your own fundraiser.”

Barba raised an eyebrow at him. “And what makes you think that I would ever want to run for office?” he asked.

Carisi blinked at him, taken aback by the question. “I just—” he started, breaking off and frowning slightly. “It’s kinda the next logical step for someone in your line of work, isn’t it?”

Barba shrugged and glanced around the ballroom, which was filling up with more people. “Maybe. If I had even a single political bone in my body.” He made a rueful expression that darkened when he picked up his scotch glass only to find it empty. “I’ve made far more enemies than allies, and while I wouldn’t rule out trying for a judgeship some day, I’ve more or less ended my political career before it even began.”

Though Carisi nodded like he understood, he didn’t really — and he also didn’t think Barba was giving himself much credit. But he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Barba that. Instead, he slid his plate towards Barba. “If we’re not gonna stay for dinner, you gotta eat something.”

“Thanks, but I prefer a liquid diet,” Barba said, standing. “Speaking of, do you need a refill?”

Carisi hadn’t even touched his beer but Barba didn’t wait for him to reply before making a beeline to the bar. Frowning, Carisi looked down at his plate and sighed before standing as well.

By the time Barba got back to the table, another scotch and beer in hand, Carisi was just returning from his second trip to the appetizers and he set the plate almost defiantly in front of Barba. “You gotta eat,” he repeated firmly, picking up his first beer and taking a large gulp.

Barba looked from the plate of food to Carisi, his brow furrowed. “Are you trying to take care of me, Detective?” he asked, snark ready and waiting in his voice.

But Carisi just shrugged. “Someone’s got to.”

Whatever response Barba had been expecting, that was clearly not it, and he was silent for a moment before inclining his head slightly. “Well, be sure to tell Liv that you’re not letting me starve,” he said finally, picking up a crab puff and taking a bite. After a long moment, he glanced back up at Carisi. “So what is it exactly that your mother wanted to know?”

“Oh,” Carisi said, startled, because he had almost forgotten about the list of questions his mother had fired at him. “Uh, normal relationship stuff, I guess. When we started dating. Where we went on our first date. When they get to meet you. If it’s serious. If you’ve told me that you love me.” He couldn’t seem to meet Barba’s eyes on that one. “Stuff like that.”

He shrugged as if to demonstrate that it was unimportant to him, but Barba was looking at him with something unusually soft in his expression. “Carisi—” he started, setting the crab puff back on his plate, but he seemed to change his mind over what he wanted to say. “I assume the easiest question to answer is when they get to meet me. While I’m certainly happy to make the drive out to Staten Island, I somehow can’t imagine that you would want to so blatantly lie to your family.”

Carisi opened his mouth and then closed it again, blinking at Barba in surprise. “You’re right.” he mumbled, looking away. “Bad enough that I’m gonna have to lie to them again when we ‘break up’.” Barba winced, something unreadable in his expression, but Carisi just nodded pointedly at Barba’s plate of food. “Anyway, you don’t have to meet my ma for me to channel her here. She’d tell you that you’re too skinny and you need to eat.”

Barba scowled at him. “Tell me, do all Italian sons learn to nag as well as their mothers, or is that just one of your better qualities?” he sniped, though he obediently picked up his half-finished crab puff. Carisi rolled his eyes but before he could actually respond, they were interrupted by a decidedly female someone clearing her throat behind them.

“Rafael. It’s not often that I see you at events like this.”

Barba’s shoulders tensed, but his expression was neutral when he turned to give Rita Calhoun his patented half-smirk. “Rita. I’m surprised you haven’t caught on fire, setting foot in a room filled with this many prosecutors.”

Calhoun’s lips twitched toward a smile. “You forget,” she said sweetly, “I used to be one of you before I wised up.”

“Before you sold out,” Barba corrected smoothly.

Rita didn’t rise to the bait, merely switching her gaze to Carisi, something almost calculating in her expression before she nodded at him. “Detective. Always good to see you outside of an interrogation room.”

“Uh, same to you,” Carisi said, looking back at Barba, who had relaxed, but only slightly, clearly deciding that Calhoun was going to cause less trouble than he’d initially thought. Carisi wasn’t so sure yet. “Is your law firm giving a donation to the DA?” he asked, with all the Staten Island bluntness he could muster, knowing that it tended to rub people the wrong way and make them leave. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

Calhoun just laughed. “Oh, I like him,” she told Barba, who looked less amused than she did by far. “You’ve picked a good one, Rafael, especially if he’s actually getting you to attend, let alone sit and eat at, one of these things.” She looked back at Carisi, and he was surprised to see that there was no malice in her expression or her tone as she told him, “You’re far better at taking care of ADA Barba than pretending to work for the New York State Board of Elections. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

As Calhoun took her leave, Carisi glanced at Barba, whose expression was unreadable. “That was…” Carisi trailed off, looking for the right word.

“Suspicious,” Barba supplied before finishing his second glass of scotch.

“I was gonna say weird,” Carisi said with a small smile. “But you know her better than I do, and I tend to find all defense attorneys suspicious.”

Barba snorted and shook his head. “No, most of them have motives clear as day. But Rita…” He frowned. “I don’t like when Rita’s nice without cause. It means she thinks she knows something that I don’t.”

Carisi finished his first beer and picked up his second without drinking from it. “You realize you sound paranoid.”

“One of my many charms,” Barba said, smirking at Carisi.

Carisi just rolled his eyes, refusing to humor Barba by laughing. Instead, he shrugged and said, “Even if it was suspicious, I’d rather run into Calhoun than any other defense attorney. Especially not—”

“Buchanan,” Barba supplied, his eyes widening, and Carisi swiveled to see John Buchanan shaking hands with the DA. “Oh, good Lord.”

Of course, Buchanan chose that moment to look across the ballroom, making eye contact with Barba, who blanched. As Buchanan started towards them, Barba stood, wrapping his fingers around Carisi’s wrist and tugging him to his feet before pulling him along as they skirted the edges of the assembled guests, putting as much space between themselves and Buchanan as possible. When he seemed to have judged that they were safe, Barba stopped, so suddenly that Carisi almost ran smack into him, and Barba reached out automatically to steady him. “Sorry about that,” Barba said, his tone clipped. “Buchanan’s defending on a case of mine, and frankly I’d rather not deal with him right now—”

He broke off, frowning at Carisi. “Why are you staring at me?”

Carisi glanced with amusement down at Barba’s hands, which were still resting lightly on Carisi’s hips where he had grabbed him to keep him from falling over. “You trying to dance with me, Counselor?” Carisi asked, because he apparently lacked even the semblance of a self-preservation instinct.

One of the paralegals from the DA’s office who was sitting nearby broke into a fit of giggles and nudged the person sitting next to her, openly pointing at Barba and Carisi, and Barba’s hands dropped almost instantly back to his sides. For his part, Carisi was just absurd enough to miss their warmth. Still, at least Barba didn’t take a step back, instead looking up at Carisi, his forehead creased. “In retrospect, bringing you to a party full of vultures was probably not the best choice for our first public appearance,” he said, his voice quiet and a little apologetic.

“I don’t mind,” Carisi said automatically. “Though, uh, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you choose this as our first public appearance, since you clearly don’t want to be here, and I’m fairly certain it’s not just because of me?”

“It’s not because of you at all,” Barba said, quickly enough that it sounded a little like he was lying. “The DA insisted, as much as he can insist on something like this.” He sighed and fiddled with the button of his tuxedo jacket. “The DA has received donation pledges from some very influential donors who have a vested interest in the DA’s hiring of an openly LGBT ADA,” he said, reluctantly. “And since normally the only thing I bring the DA is grief, it seemed like the least I could do.” He met Carisi’s eyes. “I am sorry you have to be dragged along into this, though.”

Carisi shrugged. “There are worse ways to spend an evening,” he said, conciliatorily. “I mean, I was expecting a lot worse from a crowd of mostly lawyers and judges, but this has been...almost nice.”

The words surprised him almost as they surprised Barba, who looked amused. “What were you expecting, torture?” he asked archly, but didn’t give Carisi a chance to answer before continuing, “But you’ll be glad to know that from the looks of it, the DA is about to give his speech, and we can duck out afterwards.” He looked up at Carisi, his expression neutral again. “Which means your obligation for the evening is almost over.”

Something tightened in Carisi’s chest, and as much as he longed to tell Barba that no part of this was an obligation for him, he settled for saying instead, keeping his voice light, “There’s no need to cut the night short on my account. I’m looking forward to that ribeye.”

“I’m sure that you can ask the kitchen to give it to you in a to-go container,” Barba said, rolling his eyes. “Besides, I have an early morning meeting tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Carisi said, feeling a little winded, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “Well, you’re gonna at least let me sneak out with you, right? Or do we have to leave separately so as not to draw suspicion?”

He was mostly joking, but Barba considered it for a second. “Together would make more sense,” he said with an air of finality. “More questions would be raised by us leaving separately than together. At least by leaving together, they’d assume we’re leaving because we can’t keep our hands off each other.”

Given that the two men were standing a solid foot apart, Barba’s hands in his pockets and Carisi’s arms crossed in front of his chest, Carisi could already see a flaw in that statement, but he chose not to comment on it. Instead, he nodded towards the DA, who had just stepped to the front of the room, clearly ready to begin his speech. “We better sit.”

Barba heaved a sigh like he’d rather do literally anything else and ushered Carisi toward their seats, his hand again resting lightly on his back, but Carisi could find no warmth in the touch this time. He had been reminded in both Barba’s words and attitude that no matter what they were both pretending, this wasn’t a real date. And as stupid as the thought was, the reminder had soured the evening for him.

He forced a smile on his face as they took their seats at a round table with six other people that Carisi vaguely recognized from the DA’s office. Barba nodded his greeting, clearly acquainted with everyone they were sitting with, and quickly introduced Carisi. “This is Det. Dominick Carisi Jr. of the NYPD.”

A few pairs of curious eyes looked his way, but Carisi was prepared for it. This — what they were doing — this was just another undercover assignment, another identity for him to assume but never let his own feelings get in the way of.

So he forced his smile even wider as he told the other guests, “Call me Sonny.”

Barba relaxed slightly and even joined in the applause when the DA welcomed everyone, and as soon as the DA’s remarks were completed, he leaned over and rested his hand on Carisi’s arm, the gesture surprisingly intimate. “Don’t forget, we have that thing,” he said, purposefully vague, a slight smile on his face.

Carisi didn’t hesitate, merely standing up and offering Barba his hand. “Sorry to drag Rafael away so early,” he told their tablemates. “But we have somewhere else to be this evening.”

And to his surprise, Barba’s fingers closed around his, and it took Carisi a moment to restart his brain and actually help Barba from his seat. Together, they walked towards the exit, drawing the occasional glance and even pointed comment, but Barba’s hand was on Carisi’s back again and everything else was background noise. When they reached the doors, Barba paused, frowning slightly at Carisi. “Did you actually want to ask for your steak to go?” he asked.

Carisi snorted and rolled his eyes. “Nah, I think I’ll be fine,” he said dismissively before adding, “I mean, if it were chicken parmesan? I’d abandon your ass in an instant to get me some leftovers.”

Barba rolled his eyes as well but made no further comment as he and Carisi walked together from the hotel. As soon as they reached the crisp, autumn air, Barba huffed a sigh, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in easily an hour. “Well,” he said, ordering a Lyft on the phone, “I suppose you were right about one thing.”

Carisi glanced over at him. “What’s that?” he asked.

“It wasn’t quite torture.” Carisi half-smiled and Barba glanced up at him. “My ride won’t be here for a few minutes, but you don’t have to wait with me.”

“I don’t mind,” Carisi said, a little too quickly. “I, uh, I had a surprisingly good time tonight.”

Barba’s forehead creased and he looked away. “And you _really_ don’t have to do that,” he said dismissively. “I think outside of public appearances, we can dispense with the formalities. After all, it’s not like this was a real date.”

Since Carisi had already had that thought not even twenty minutes earlier, he didn’t expect the words to hurt as much as they did. “And if it were, Counselor?” Carisi asked, in an attempt to hide the pain he was sure anyone with eyes could see flash across his expression. “How would this end if this were a real date?”

For a moment, Barba looked almost confused by the question, but then he rolled his eyes good-naturedly and shook his head before looking back down at his phone. “I wouldn’t know,” he said, a touch curt. “I’ve never brought a date to a political function.”

“Really? I’m flattered.”

Barba rolled his eyes again. “Don’t be,” he said.

Carisi considered pressing the issue further but decided against it, instead reaching up to tug at the knot of his tie. “Here,” he said, suddenly gruff. “You probably want this back.”

Barba glanced up at him, something in his face softening as he pocketed his phone. “Keep it,” he said, giving Carisi a smile just a little too soft to be a smirk. “It might just class up your wardrobe. And besides, as your ‘boyfriend’, replacing that truly hideous tie of yours is probably the least I could do.”

Even if Barba was being sarcastic, even if it was all no more than pretend, Carisi’s heart still gave a traitorous flip-flop to hear the word ‘boyfriend’ come out of Barba’s mouth, so much so that he completely missed what Barba said next until he noticed Barba staring at him expectantly. “Sorry, what?” Carisi said, blushing slightly.

“I said, I’m sorry for not getting a chance to answer the rest of your mother’s questions,” Barba repeated impatiently.

“Oh,” Carisi said, having once again completely forgotten about the questions. “We, uh, we’ll just have to figure out the answers later.”

Barba nodded stiffly as his ride pulled up to the curb. “Right,” he said. “Tomorrow, at some point?” Carisi was so surprised at the question that he just nodded blankly. “Excellent,” Barba said, heading to the car and opening the door, though he paused to add with a half-smile, “But you’re in charge of bringing the mozzarella sticks. See you tomorrow.”

With that, he was gone, leaving Carisi staring after him for a long moment before he turned to trudge towards the nearest subway stop, trying not to let the promise of tomorrow mean more to him than it probably should.


	4. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It seems like the most sensible cover story, what with the emotional turmoil of Sgt. Dodds’s death, and the added fun of the death threats against me.” Barba shrugged and snagged a mozzarella stick. “It’s just logical — late nights, emotions running high. No one would question that.”
> 
> The breath caught in Carisi’s throat because he could _see_ it, as clear as day, all the potential there that he hadn’t had the balls to act on then — that frankly, he still didn’t have the balls to act on now. “Uh, yeah,” he said, ducking his head and focusing closely on his chicken parmesan as if it was infinitely more interesting than the fictional start of his relationship with Barba. “Yeah, that would make sense. Which means we’d’ve been dating for…”
> 
> “A little over a year now,” Barba supplied, raising his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Happy one year anniversary.”

For the first time since this whole arrangement began, Carisi felt like no one was giving him a second look or muttering about him behind his back, but that was probably because this was something he had done many times before: navigating the familiar hallways to Barba’s office, laden with takeout bags and coffee.

Carmen, ever vigilant, looked up when Carisi approached, giving him a genuine smile. “You can go right in,” she told him. “He’s expecting you.”

Carisi wasn’t sure if any three words — short of the three he would not even dare to think about — could sound as sweet as that, and he nudged Barba’s office door open with his hip. “Hey, I brought—” he started, breaking off when he saw that Barba wasn’t alone. 

“Detective,” John Buchanan said with a knowing smile, and Carisi glanced from him to Barba, feeling entirely unsure of what he was supposed to do or say. “Don’t worry, I was just leaving.”

“Yes, you were,” Barba agreed amicably, not even sparing Buchanan a second glance as he smiled up at Carisi. “Detective. Is that lunch I smell?”

Carisi glanced over at Buchanan again, who, despite his words, was actually making no attempt to leave Barba’s office. “Uh, yeah, but I didn’t bring enough for three,” he said, as pointedly as he could, and Barba’s smile sharpened into a smirk.

“John, if you’re hoping to get lunch out of this, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” he told Buchanan, who didn’t even look remotely abashed, and Barba took the takeout bag from Carisi and set it on his desk. “Have your office fax me some semblance of a reasonable plea deal and maybe I’ll let you buy me lunch next week, but for now, kindly vacate my office.”

Buchanan was still smiling and Carisi frankly found the sight rather disturbing. “Fine, fine, I’m leaving,” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “I just wanted to get a glimpse of the lovebirds in their natural environment.”

Barba rolled his eyes but Carisi beat him to the punch. “We only perform for a paying audience, Counselor,” he said coolly. “Something I’m sure you tell your clients all the time.”

Though Barba shot Carisi a look, he couldn’t seem to stop his grin, and Buchanan looked torn between amusement and insult. “I’ll keep that in mind, Detective,” he said, with all the bluster he could seemingly muster, and he nodded at Barba. “My office will be in touch.”

With that, he finally left, and Barba laughed, reaching up to loosen the knot of his tie as he sank into his seat. “Thank you for rescuing me from that,” he told Carisi with genuine appreciation. “I suppose I should’ve asked Carmen to warn you, but—”

“But watching me flail was more amusing?” Carisi asked, with no real heat, digging into the takeout bag to pull out two foil-lidded containers and a paper bag spotted with grease stains. “Just for that, I shouldn’t give you lunch, but…”

He set one container in front of Barba anyway, followed by a set of plastic utensils, and Barba gave Carisi an amused look. “Dare I ask what you brought? I had expected mozzarella sticks, and yet…”

Carisi settled into the chair opposite Barba and pointed at the paper bag with his fork. “Mozzarella sticks are in there,” he said cheerfully. “And after last night, I had a craving that was entirely your fault, so. I brought chicken parmesan.”

Barba laughed again, the sound bright and a little unexpected, and Carisi couldn’t stop his own grin even as he busied himself with opening his takeout container and breathing in the heavenly scent of chicken parmesan. “Why am I not surprised?” Barba asked, his own smile softer than Carisi’s.

“What can I say, I’m a walking stereotype,” Carisi told him, his mouth full of food. 

Barba rolled his eyes. “In more ways than one,” he said, tucking a napkin into the collar of his shirt, and Carisi would’ve made fun of him if the image hadn’t been so absurdly adorable. “So. To the purpose of our working lunch — your mother’s questions.”

Carisi gulped, not expecting to get to the questions so quickly and nearly choking on an ill-timed bite of mozzarella stick. “Right,” he rasped, grabbing one of the cups of coffee and taking a swig. “My mother’s questions.” Barba was busy cutting up his chicken parmesan as best as he could with a plastic knife, so Carisi didn’t wait for his acknowledgment before saying, “Uh, I figured deciding when we started dating would probably set up some of the other answers.”

Barba nodded slowly, taking a cautious bite of chicken parmesan, and Carisi didn’t miss the way that his face lit up at the taste. “Right.” He gave Carisi a look that might be considered furtive under different circumstances. “Have you — that is to say, is there anyone — I mean—”

“Spit it out, Counselor,” Carisi said, amused.

Barba glared at him. “When did you last break up with a significant other?” he clarified bluntly.

Carisi blushed and he stabbed his chicken parmesan with perhaps more force than was necessary. “Uh, it’s been awhile,” he muttered, avoiding Barba’s gaze. “Long enough that you, uh, you don’t have to worry about specific dates or anything.”

Though Barba just nodded, Carisi could’ve sworn for a moment that he saw something satisfied in his expression. “In that case, I’d suggest that we say we started dating after Sgt. Dodds’s funeral.”

“After Sgt. Dodds’s funeral?” Carisi repeated blankly, his brow furrowed and his mind entirely blank because Barba sounded like he had thought about this before, and Carisi couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that Barba had given any kind of thought to this.

Barba nodded, watching Carisi closely as he took another bite of his lunch. “Yes,” he said, when it became clear that Carisi wasn’t going to manage to say anything more. “It seems like the most sensible cover story, what with the emotional turmoil of Sgt. Dodds’s death, and the added fun of the death threats against me.” He shrugged and snagged a mozzarella stick. “It’s just logical — late nights, emotions running high. No one would question that.” 

The breath caught in Carisi’s throat because he could  _ see _ it, as clear as day, all the potential there that he hadn’t had the balls to act on then — that frankly, he still didn’t have the balls to act on now. “Uh, yeah,” he said, ducking his head and focusing closely on his chicken parm as if it was infinitely more interesting than the fictional start of his relationship with Barba. “Yeah, that would make sense. Which means we’d’ve been dating for…”

“A little over a year now,” Barba supplied, raising his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Happy one year anniversary.”

Carisi rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the way the words caused pain to flare in his chest. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

Barba smirked. “You should be. I gave you a tie, after all.”

“Oh, are we counting that as a present?” Carisi shot back. “I thought that was just you doing your duty as my ‘boyfriend’ to make me dress better.”

“The latter doesn’t preclude the former,” Barba said smoothly, still smirking.

Carisi just shook his head and grabbed the last mozzarella stick, hesitating before offering it to Barba, who shook his head in return. “Ok, so then that leaves us with the question of where we went on our first date.”

Barba looked rather pointedly at the remains of their lunch. “Italian, obviously,” he said. “Some little hole in the wall place that only you would know. We split a bottle of wine probably too expensive for both the location and the food. I wanted to pay but you insisted, so in exchange I asked you to come home with me so that I could repay you.”

“Repay me?” Carisi asked, his voice sounding strange to his own ears as he listened to the fantasy that Barba was spinning. “How?”

Barba smirked. “That depends, Detective,” he said, his voice pitched low. “Do you put out on the first date?”

Mercifully, Carisi was saved from having to answer that question by Carmen knocking on the door and poking her head in. “Mr. Barba, Chief Dodds is here to see you.”

Barba and Carisi exchanged startled glances as Dodds strolled in, smiling at them both. “Detective, Counselor,” Dodds said. “Glad to find you both in the same place.”

“Chief,” Barba said, something darkening in his expression as if he was unhappy that their lunch had been interrupted. “What can I do for you?”

“I just happened to be in the building, figured I’d swing by and check in on things,” Dodds said, far too casually to be genuine, and when neither Carisi nor Barba’s expressions changed, he shrugged. “And I wanted to thank you for all that you’ve been doing. Your efforts haven’t gone unnoticed by 1PP.”

Barba rolled his eyes. “Because I live for approval from the powers that be at 1PP,” he scoffed, and Carisi quickly turned his chuckle into a cough.

Dodds just smiled at that. “Maybe not, but rumor has it the DA was impressed with your showing last night, so even if 1PP’s approval isn’t enough for you, maybe that is.” 

“Fascinating though your insight into what motivates me may be, Chief, I assume you didn’t stop by just to congratulate myself and Detective Carisi.”

For the first time, Dodds glanced at Carisi as if he had forgotten he was there. “Right. I actually did have an ulterior motive — an invite, for the two of you.” He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of tickets. “These were dropped off at my office this morning by a representative from the Archbishop’s office. He’s invited you two to the Catholic Charities of New York benefit for families of fallen officers on Thursday night.”

“No,” Barba said, something almost cold in his voice, and Carisi looked over at him, surprised. “No, I draw the line there.”

Dodds looked as confused as Carisi felt. “Counselor, I know that your office as well as NYPD has a bit of a history with the Church—”

Barba shook his head as he sat back in his chair. “It’s not that,” he said, though he tilted his head and amended, “It’s not  _ just _ that. Det. Carisi and I are actively deceiving friends, family and colleagues, but on his behalf, knowing that he’s a practicing Catholic, I draw the line at deceiving the Archbishop of New York.” The corners of his mouth twitched toward a smile. “It’s been a long time since I went to Mass, but I’m fairly certain that’d be a pretty grave sin.”

Carisi felt a curious warmth blooming in his chest, and he didn’t tear his eyes away from Barba as he told both Barba and Dodds, “Nah, I’m pretty sure the graver sin would be offending the Archbishop by turning down his invitation.” He finally looked away from Barba to reach up and accept the tickets from Dodds. “Though I’m a little concerned about why they wanted to invite us.”

Though Dodds shrugged, something in his expression shifted as he glanced between Barba and Carisi. “Maybe the NYPD isn’t the only organization looking to mend some fences with the LGBT community,” he suggested. Barba and Carisi again exchanged dubious glances at that, and Dodds shrugged again. “Either way, the Commissioner appreciates your willingness to attend. He also wanted to pass along the reminder that the NYPD Benefit Ball is in a couple weeks and he’d like to see you there.”

“Is that an order, Chief?” Carisi asked, with as much glibness as he could muster.

“Of course not,” Dodds assured him, though he also gave Carisi a look that told him he should absolutely interpret that as an order. “In any case, gentlemen, I’ll let you get back to your lunch.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Barba frowned at Carisi. “You really don’t have to do this, you know,” he said, his tone mild but his forehead creased with something that Carisi might generously consider concern. “I know how seriously you take your religion.”

Carisi shrugged and gestured towards the remnants of Barba’s lunch with his fork. “You gonna finish that?” he asked, and Barba rolled his eyes but passed him the container. “I mean, am I thrilled to be deceiving the Church? No, of course not, but it bothers me less than lying to the squad and my family.”

Something tightened in Barba’s expression and he looked away. “You should realize, attending an event of this nature will mean even more press coverage,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. “And inevitably most of it won’t be of the good variety.”

Shrugging again, Carisi finished the last of Barba’s chicken parmesan and set his fork down before saying, as casually as he could, “I came to terms with how the Church views my sexuality a long time ago.” He made a face. “But I should probably warn my mother before she decides to go all mama-bear in the comments of some ignorant article on Facebook or another.”

Barba sat back in his chair and examined Carisi carefully, his expression inscrutable. “She’s protective of you,” he noted, as if it was news, and Carisi just blinked at him.

“She’s my mom,” he said. “It’s kinda her job.”

“You take after her, you know,” Barba said, and if anything, that statement startled Carisi more than anything else all day. “You’re protective, too — of the squad, of victims…”

He trailed off, and Carisi stared at him, unsure of where he was going with this. “Yeah, well, that’s  _ my _ job,” he said finally, trying not to sound as thrown as he was.

“And you’re protective of me,” Barba added, and Carisi felt himself blush, though he determinedly avoided meeting Barba’s eyes.

“You’re part of the squad,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Besides, what do you call that little exchange with Dodds earlier?”

Barba half-smiled. “Perhaps there’s a little bit of mama-bear in me as well.”

Carisi didn’t really know what to say to that, so he settled for changing the subject entirely. “So. Catholic Charities benefit. Are you sure your mortal soul is prepared for this?”

Barba rolled his eyes. “Better question: are you sure your wardrobe is prepared for this?”

It was Carisi’s turn to roll his eyes. “Let me guess, black tie optional but not actually optional?” he asked, layering his voice with as much snark as he could.

“Actually, I’m fairly certain it’s white tie — and definitely not optional.” Barba waved a hand towards his door. “Leave your measurements with Carmen and I’ll have my guy get you a tux.”

Carisi gaped at him. “Your guy?” he repeated. “You have a tux guy?” Barba rolled his eyes but Carisi didn’t wait to hear his reply. “I’m gonna end up looking ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Barba frowned at him. “As if I’d ever let my date look ridiculous. I’m actually insulted that you think so poorly of me, Detective.”

While Carisi recognized the snarky banter for what it was, he found himself tongue-tied over trying to respond, probably because his brain was stuck somewhere around Barba saying that he’d never let a date look ridiculous. And the fact that he was openly referring to Carisi as his date. Fake or otherwise, Carisi wasn’t entirely sure how much more of this his heart could take. “It’s not you that I think poorly of,” he said, finally, his voice inexplicably rough. “I’m just not convinced that I can pull off white tie.”

It was either the best possible thing to say or the worst, since Carisi was then rewarded by Barba raking his eyes up and down Carisi’s body, that small half-smile back on his face. “I have faith that you’re better suited than you think,” Barba told him, his voice low, and Carisi blushed.

“Right,” he said, awkwardly standing. “Well. I, uh, I should get back to work.”

Barba glanced at the clock, looking surprised at the time. “As should I,” he said, a genuine note of regret in his voice, and Carisi’s heart gave a traitorous skip. “Thank you for lunch.”

Carisi waved a dismissive hand. “Least I could do,” he said, a little gruffly. “I’ll, uh, see you on Thursday, I guess?”

He pitched it as a question, though he wasn’t exactly sure what Barba was supposed to say otherwise, and the dubious look Barba gave him was the best he supposed he could hope for. “I guess so,” Barba said, opening a case file on his desk as the clearest sign of dismissal he normally gave. “Don’t forget to leave your measurements with Carmen.”

Carisi nodded and turned to go, only pausing when Barba added, “We never answered your mother’s final question, by the way.”

For a moment, Carisi didn’t have any idea what Barba was talking about, but then he remembered, and his heart sank to somewhere around his knees. “You’re right,” he said, without turning around. “We never even started discussing if you would’ve said…”

He trailed off, unwilling to say the words ‘I love you’, and especially unwilling to look back at Barba, to see whatever expression he wore. “Well,” Barba said, and there was  _ something _ in his voice that Carisi couldn’t even begin to define or explain, “it looks like we’ll have something to discuss at the charity event.”

Now Carisi did turn, just slightly, to favor Barba with a raised eyebrow and a quipped, “Worried about conversation topics, Counselor?”

“Since your wardrobe seems sorted out for the evening, I might as well worry about the mundane,” Barba shot back, but he was smiling. “I’ll see you on Thursday, Detective.”

Carisi nodded and left, pausing awkwardly at Carmen’s desk to tell her in a volume he was certain Barba could hear, “Uh, the counselor wanted me to leave my measurements for a tux with you.”

If Carmen found that strange, she didn’t say anything, instead dutifully taking down Carisi’s measurements (or at least, what he could estimate his measurements to be, since it wasn’t like he had purchased a suit recently. But he remembered the rough measurements of the tux he had rented for Bella’s wedding, and just assumed that would suffice). Once she had finished, she looked up at him expectantly. “Anything else, Detective?”

Her voice was just a little too innocent, and Carisi knew instantly that she knew about the situation and he rolled his eyes accordingly. “I’d say try to make sure he gets a good night’s sleep before our ‘big date’, but I know him too well to put that on you,” he said dryly, still loudly enough that Barba could hear. “So just make sure he’s decently caffeinated on Thursday.”

Carmen smiled at him. “I’ll do my best,” she promised.

That was as much as Carisi could ask for, so he nodded at her before turning to head out. As he walked away from Barba’s office, he tried not to think again of the fake story they had devised, of how close their shared lunch had been to something so much more than that, of the look on Barba’s face when he had jokingly asked if Carisi put out on the first date.

Most of all, he tried not to think about how much he wished that all of it was real.


	5. The Catholic Charities Event

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barba shrugged. “We’ve known each other for a few years,” he pointed out evenly. “And if in this fictional scenario we had started dating when we did, I know that our relationship would only have started because I had been falling for you for longer than I’d be willing to admit.” The breath caught in Carisi’s throat and he gaped at Barba, sure that he looked like an idiot but quite frankly not caring. “And while I’m certain that I would have delayed saying ‘I love you’ just because of my own stubbornness, I doubt I’d have been able to manage a whole year without saying it.”
> 
> Carisi just stared at him, his mouth dry, unable to think of a single thing to say to that, beyond the absurd notion to just spit those three words out. Instead, he noticed for the first time how closely they were standing, how both their heads were tilted just so, mere inches apart, and it would take absolutely nothing to close the space between them. And Carisi felt it like an electric current or a magnetic pull, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in towards Barba, his hand resting slightly on top of Barba’s, their bodies slotted perfectly together like this moment was predestined.

“Jesus Christ,” Carisi huffed, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror and smoothing a reluctant hand down the front of his tux. “Amanda and Fin are never gonna let me hear the end of this.”

Why Barba had decided that he was going to pick Carisi up from the precinct was beyond him, but he hadn’t really had any good reason to disagree. Of course, he could think of two now, both waiting out in the bullpen, despite it being past the point where they could go home, just so that they could heckle him.

Carisi had patiently waited out the end of the day, trying to ignore the garment bag hanging conspicuously in the breakroom, watching as the clock slowly slid to 7 so that Fin and Rollins would leave and he could change without an audience. But when 7 rolled around, Fin and Rollins had remained at their desks. “You guys got a case I don’t know about it?” Carisi asked, a little pointedly.

Fin had just leaned back in his seat. “Nah,” he said, casually. “Paperwork.”

“Same,” Rollins had said, but she couldn’t quite hide the grin that threatened to lift the corners of her mouth.

“You two are terrible liars,” Carisi grumbled. Rollins threw him her most overwrought, wide-eyed, ‘who, me?’ look, while Fin just chuckled. “Just — be gentle. Barba picked out the tux so if I end up looking like a doofus, it’s his fault.”

This had been the wrong thing to say, as Rollins’s face lit up. “Barba picks your clothes out for you?” she crowed.

Which had been when Carisi decided to beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom, grabbing the garment bag and praying that Barba had picked well.

And while Carisi was certainly never going to tell Barba that, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he had to admit that Barba had done a damn good job.

He took one final minute to adjust his cufflinks and straighten the bow tie at his throat before making a face at himself in the mirror, sighing heavily, and saying out loud to no one in particular, “Guess I gotta go face the firing squad.”

Rollins let out a whoop when Carisi emerged from the bathroom, feeling more ridiculous than he ever had, and Fin gave a wolf whistle accompanied by an approving nod. “Damn, Carisi, you clean up good,” Rollins said, eyeing him appreciatively.

“Yeah, yeah,” Carisi said, tugging at the collar of his shirt and feeling the flush creep over his face.

Fin snorted. “Just don’t let his boyfriend hear you say that.”

“And whyever not?” someone said from behind Carisi, and he turned to find Barba smiling at him, looking resplendent in a tux of his own and regarding Carisi with an expression similar to Rollins’s on his face. “She’s not wrong.”

Carisi’s blush deepened and he cleared his threat to try to hide his embarrassment. “Ready to go?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice light.

Barba eyed Fin and Rollins, who were watching them expectantly. “Ready when you are, though it appears your colleagues aren't in any hurry for us to rush off.”

“Well, they're gonna have to learn to live with disappointment,” Carisi said, glaring at them. “Enjoy your _paperwork_.”

With that, he turned to march towards the elevators with his dignity as intact as it could be. Barba matched his stride, a smirk settling in place as he looked up at Carisi. “I think they were expecting more of a show,” he said.

Carisi rolled his eyes. “Of course they were,” he said dismissively, following Barba onto the elevator. “They're as bad as Buchanan.”

“Yes, but while neither you nor I would ever give Buchanan the satisfaction, these are your colleagues who you work with on a daily basis,” Barba said, something wry in his tone. “Are you sure you didn't need to do something more to convince them that this charade is real?”

Carisi glanced sideways at him. He knew Barba was mostly joking, knew it from the smirk still curving his lips and the slight crinkle of his eyes, but that didn't stop Carisi’s heartbeat from accelerating regardless at the thought of all the ways he and Barba could've convinced Fin and Amanda, from a chaste kiss in greeting each other to Carisi pushing Barba against his desk and—

The elevator dinged and Carisi shook his head. That line of thought was _not_ going to help matters this evening, especially since they were headed to a _Catholic_ charity event and the very last thing Carisi needed was to be thinking about was the way Barba’s eyes had darkened when he had suggested convincing their colleagues.

Instead, he shrugged and held the door open for Barba. “Nah,” he said. “I'm not concerned. They've got decent imaginations.”

Just like he had a decent imagination to think that, for just a second, Barba looked slightly disappointed.

As they got into the waiting car, Carisi decided now was as good a time as any to change the subject. “So how come I’m stuck wearing a bow tie while you get to wear a regular tie?”

Barba smoothed a hand down his own tie, his smirk reemerging as he looked over at Carisi. “First and foremost, this is not a ‘regular’ tie, it’s a seven-fold tie. Secondly, if there’s one of us who needs the elongating effect of a ‘regular’ tie, it’s me, not you. Thirdly, I didn’t want us to be dressed identically.”

“Why not?” Carisi asked, grinning. “Afraid we’d look too much like a couple?”

Barba rolled his eyes. “That has nothing to do with it,” he said. “Besides, couples should complement each other with their attire, not match completely, so if anything, I’ve ensured we look more like a couple, not less.”

Carisi opened his mouth to respond but stopped himself, mainly because what he wanted to say was that they _did_ complement each other, in more ways than just attire. And all the time he’d been spending with Barba recently had only reinforced for him the feeling that somehow, bizarrely, they just _fit_ , even though they shouldn’t.

Even though, outside of this damned fake relationship, they never would.

Of course, Carisi said none of that, instead tugging irritably at his bow tie. “Ok, so, complementing outfits aside, is there a reason you got me a pre-tied bow tie instead of a real one?”

Barba looked surprised by the question. “I didn’t know if you knew how to tie a bow tie,” he said, as if the answer was obvious.

“And, what, your phone was broken?”

Scowling, Barba pulled out the phone in question and busied himself with it as he told Carisi, “I didn’t want to bother you with such an inane question.”

“It wouldn’t’ve bothered me,” Carisi said baldly, and when Barba glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow, he blushed and said, a little too quickly, “I mean, that way I coulda told you that I’ve always wanted to wear a real bow tie, just so that I can untie it at the end of the night, you know? Let it hang untied from around my neck like James Bond or something.”

Barba stared at Carisi’s neck for an almost uncomfortably long moment as if he was picturing exactly that, and Carisi’s blush deepened. Eventually, Barba managed to look back down at his phone as he remarked, “I think James Bond is a bit lofty a goal. Bring back the mustache and you could aim for Magnum PI, maybe.”

Carisi snorted. “I knew you always secretly wanted me to bring back the ‘stache,” he joked.

“And I knew you didn’t actually know how to tie a bow tie,” Barba shot back with a smirk.

Their good-natured bickering lasted all the way to the benefit, so much so that the driver had to clear his throat and tell them, “We’re here.”

Again, Carisi swore that Barba looked slightly disappointed, and once again, he was fairly convinced he had imagined it, especially since once Carisi clambered out of the car, Barba’s expression had gone back to neutral, though he looked up at the building in front of them with slight trepidation. “You sure you’re ready for this?” Carisi asked, his tone teasing but the question sincere.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Barba muttered. “If I catch fire, call my mother and tell her that her warnings about what would happen if I stopped attending Mass came true, would you?” Carisi laughed and Barba managed a slight smile. “Then again, even in death I’m not sure I want to give her the satisfaction of saying ‘I told you so’, so tell her I died a noble death instead.”

Carisi rolled his eyes. “How about we don’t start the evening by talking about death?” he suggested.

“And here I thought we started the evening by talking about how good you looked in that tux,” Barba said lightly, resting his hand lightly against Carisi’s back as they headed up the steps. “Or how horrendous your mustache was.”

“Or how you assumed I was too dumb to know how to tie a bow tie,” Carisi shot back, a bit on edge as they checked in at the table in front of the reception hall.

Barba gave him a look as he grabbed the card with their names and table number printed on it, along with the subtle note ‘Guests of the Archbishop’. “I never said you were dumb,” he said, a touch sternly. “Uneducated in how to tie a bow tie, perhaps, but would you like to know a secret?”

Carisi raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself as they walked through the doors of the ballroom together. “Sure.”

“I’m really bad at tying bow ties, and when I have the opportunity, I get a pre-tied one myself.”

In the evening’s cruelest turn of events thus far, Carisi wasn’t able to respond to that with the proper mockery before they ran into someone that Barba recognized, someone from the mayor’s office based on the conversation they struck up. Not that Carisi was paying attention to the conversation in the slightest because Barba, apparently foregoing the light hand against Carisi’s back he had favored previously, had instead wrapped an arm around Carisi’s waist, and Carisi wasn’t entirely sure that he remembered how to breathe.

What made it worse was that the guy from the mayor’s office seemed to take it upon himself to introduce Barba and Carisi to just about everyone there, and as much as Carisi’s heart continued to give a little leap at being introduced together as ‘ADA Rafael Barba and his boyfriend, Det. Dominick Carisi Jr.’, Barba’s arm remained firmly around his waist, tugging him closer with seemingly every person they met and Carisi was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.

And while the reaction wasn’t anything that Carisi hadn’t expected from a Catholic event — too-wide of smiles and the occasional person saying that they’d pray for him and Barba, plus the soft jabs about how _difficult_ it must be for them — Carisi got the distinct impression that Barba was also becoming increasingly uncomfortable, if the tightness of his grip was any indication.

So Carisi snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and excused himself and Barba to get some fresh air out on a balcony, watching as Barba relaxed for the first time all evening, leaning against the balcony’s railing. “God, I don’t know how you do it,” Barba muttered, taking a sip of champagne.

“How I do what?” Carisi asked, matching his stance and taking a sip from his own glass of champagne.

“How you can stomach the things that the Catholic Church says about homosexuality,” Barba said bluntly.

Carisi shrugged. “Like I told you before, I came to terms with it a long time ago. I know what’s between God and me, so what they think doesn’t matter.”

Barba glanced at him with a slightly surprised expression. “That’s...remarkably enlightened of you, Detective.”

Laughing a little ruefully, Carisi took a much larger swig of champagne. “It took me a long time to get there,” he admitted. “I mean, growing up as a gay Italian Catholic on Staten Island wasn’t exactly easy, you know?” He shrugged again. “But I guess what I got out of it is the importance of forgiveness, even for those who think I’m going straight to Hell.”

Barba’s expression turned dark. “In that case, you’re a better man than me by far,” he muttered.

“Is that why you stopped going to Mass?” Carisi asked.

Shrugging, Barba took another sip of champagne. “Not fully. Religion was never as big a part of my life as it clearly is yours. Even my mother, with all her jokes that I’d spontaneously combust upon setting foot within a hundred yards of a priest again, didn’t really attend Mass regularly. I used to go with my abuelita when I was a kid.” He made a face. “For me, when my sexuality became an issue, it was far easier to cut ties with the Church than stay and fight.” He gave Carisi an appraising look before admitting, “In that regard, I admire your...tenacity.”

Carisi blushed slightly and shrugged before saying, as off-handedly as he could manage, “There are some things worth fighting for.”

Barba tilted his head slightly and half-smiled. “Yes, there are,” he agreed. After a long moment, Barba cleared his throat. “So, are we ever going to answer your mother’s final question?”

Carisi’s blush deepened and he couldn’t seem to meet Barba’s eyes, draining the rest of his champagne before muttering, “I, uh, I really hadn’t thought about it…”

“Of course I would have said it,” Barba said calmly, and Carisi looked over at him so quickly that he almost gave himself whiplash.

“You would?” he asked, his voice coming out as more of a croak than anything, especially since Barba had never exactly struck him as the type to readily admit his feelings.

Barba shrugged. “We’ve known each other for a few years,” he pointed out evenly. “And if in this fictional scenario we had started dating when we did, I know that our relationship would only have started because I had been falling for you for longer than I’d be willing to admit.” The breath caught in Carisi’s throat and he gaped at Barba, sure that he looked like an idiot but quite frankly not caring. “And while I’m certain that I would have delayed saying ‘I love you’ just because of my own stubbornness, I doubt I’d have been able to manage a whole year without saying it.”

Carisi just stared at him, his mouth dry, unable to think of a single thing to say to that, beyond the absurd notion to just spit those three words out. Instead, he noticed for the first time how closely they were standing, how both their heads were tilted just so, mere inches apart, and it would take absolutely nothing to close the space between them. And Carisi felt it like an electric current or a magnetic pull, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in towards Barba, his hand resting slightly on top of Barba’s, their bodies slotted perfectly together like this moment was predestined, and—

“Excuse me?” a tentative voice interrupted, and Carisi and Barba practically sprang apart. Carisi could feel his face burning as a short man with a priest’s collar asked, “ADA Barba and Det. Carisi?” At Barba’s sharp nod, the priest continued, “The Archbishop would like to speak to you. If...if now is convenient.”

As if Barba or Carisi could tell him otherwise. Carisi chanced a glance at Barba, whose expression had gone carefully blank again. “Of course,” Barba said, not sounding nearly as flustered as Carisi felt. He glanced up at Carisi. “Ready?”

Carisi wasn’t entirely sure that he was capable of speech yet, so he settled for nodding jerkily, barely noticing as Barba again wrapped an arm around his waist as they followed the priest to where the Archbishop was deep in conversation with a few other police officers. They were in their dress uniforms and Carisi felt conspicuously underdressed standing next to them, wishing he had his own badge on his chest instead of a meticulously-folded pocket square.

He exchanged curt nods with his fellow officers while Barba ignored them, instead extending a hand to the Archbishop. “Your Excellency,” Barba said, and Carisi was surprised by Barba’s almost calculating tone. “Det. Carisi and I appreciated your invitation.”

The Archbishop smiled at them both and shook Barba’s hand before extending his hand to Carisi, who bowed, awkwardly, and kissed his ring. “Your Excellency,” he murmured.

“I am so glad that you both could make it,” the Archbishop said warmly.

“Are you?” Barba asked, a sharp smile on his face, and Carisi gave him look, sincerely hoping that Barba wasn’t going to maintain his signature snark for the entire conversation.

But the Archbishop didn’t seem offended by Barba’s attitude. “I am,” he said simply. “My office is starting an LGBT inclusion effort, especially following Cdl. Schonborn’s recent remarks about supporting all families, even ones headed by same-sex couples and as two prominent members of the LGBT community, not to mention two officers of the law, it seemed only fitting to extend the invitation.”

Barba’s grip on Carisi again tightened. “Forgive me for saying so, but it’s a little past time that the church extended support to all families,” he said, a little dryly, and Carisi shot him a dirty look. “I assume this means that you’ll be willing to do Pre-Cana for us when the time comes.”

Carisi elbowed Barba, his own face flushing, but the Archbishop just chuckled. “It was very nice to meet you both,” he said instead of answering. “I hope you two enjoy yourselves.”

As soon as the Archbishop was out of earshot, Carisi rounded on Barba, glaring at him. “What was _that_?” he hissed. “Especially since you were the one who was so concerned about deceiving the Archbishop!”

“I’m sorry,” Barba said, and to his credit he did sound apologetic. “I just — the way he talked, like setting up an inclusion effort in 2017 would make _any_ difference after years of acting like—” He broke off and huffed a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, finally. “I meant what I said before — you’re a better man by far than I am.”

Carisi rolled his eyes. “That’s not the point,” he said impatiently. “There are just — there are limits, ok?”

Barba looked at him carefully. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said, and Carisi stared at him, confused. “This whole fake relationship — you can end it at any time. The DA’s gotten about as much of a poll bump out of it as he could hope for, and even the pressure from 1PP has to be dying down soon.”

“I—” Carisi started, flustered. “That’s not — I didn’t mean—” He broke off and took a deep breath. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, finally, taking a step towards Barba and reaching out to rest a hand against Barba’s arm, the gesture equal parts innocent and intimate and somehow as familiar to Carisi as if he had always touched Barba this way. “I just meant that there are some things that should be off-limit.”

Barba’s brow furrowed slightly, but before he could say anything, his phone rang, and he pulled it out, frowning at it. “I have to take this,” he told Carisi, and Carisi’s hand dropped to his side as he watched Barba head back towards the balcony, his professional demeanor already settling back over him.

Carisi wished he could turn off what he was feeling just as quickly, but instead, he was forced to endure the usual whirlpool of confusion and desire and desperate attempts to tamp down said desire before Barba returned. And when Barba did come back, Carisi couldn’t miss the way that Barba stayed a good two feet away from him, their casual intimacy from before gone. “That was Liv,” Barba told him, his hands in his pockets. “It turns out your colleagues ended up doing something more useful than just paperwork tonight and caught a case. I’m needed at the precinct to deal with a suspect.”

“I’ll go with you,” Carisi said instantly, but Barba shook his head, his expression inscrutable.

“That won’t be necessary, Detective,” he said. “I’m sure Liv can fill you in tomorrow. In the meantime, stay, enjoy yourself. We’ll talk later.” Carisi nodded slowly, trying to stop the disappointment he felt sinking in his stomach from flashing across his face. Barba paused, glancing up at him. “In fact, I’ll call you tomorrow. We should get together before the Benefit Ball. I think we need to discuss some...boundaries.”

Carisi felt his face burn again, this time from something close to shame. He _knew_ it, he knew he had overstepped, had misjudged, had— “Yeah,” he said, his voice sounding hollow, and small. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Barba frowned at him and looked as if he was going to say something when his phone again rang and he scowled down at it. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promised. “Have a good evening, Detective.”

“Yeah,” Carisi said, though Barba was already walking away from him and almost certainly couldn’t hear him. Even if Carisi didn’t really want him to hear him. Even if all Carisi wanted was for Barba to look back, just once. “Sure.”

Barba didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title for this chapter: Cockblocked by the Archbishop of New York.


	6. Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I mean,” Barba said, a bite of impatience in his voice, “that you never really consented to this.”
> 
> Carisi stared at him. “Of course I did—” he started, but Barba cut him off.
> 
> “Coerced consent, as we’ve established, is not consent.” He looked at Carisi carefully. “Did you ever really feel like you were able to say no to all of this?”

Carisi wanted to pretend that he wasn’t nervous, but that’d be a lie. He’d spent the better part of the day with his stomach twisted up in knots, watching the clock tick closer to his doom.

Well, that was probably a little overdramatic.

But he couldn’t help but feel like this meeting with Barba — this date, his traitorous brain supplied, though he knew it couldn’t be further from a date — to discuss boundaries, whatever that meant, probably didn’t mean good things to come for the evening.

Rollins gave him a look as he glanced up at the clock for the eighteenth time in the past five minutes. “I’d ask if you’ve got a hot date, but you look more like you’re waitin’ on a root canal,” she said, throwing a paper clip at Carisi when he didn’t look over at her.

“Actually, it _is_ a hot date,” Carisi shot back, throwing the paper clip back at Rollins, who dodged it with a grin.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to shit a brick?”

Thankfully, Carisi was saved from having to answer by Fin, who had the unfortunate luck of returning from the breakroom just in time to overhear Rollins’s comment, and he gave them both a look as he sat down. “I don’t even wanna know,” he told them.

Rollins narrowed her eyes at Carisi, clearly prepared to continue her interrogation, but Carisi was again saved, this time by Olivia, who opened her office door, case file in hand. “I need someone to take this over to Barba,” she said, looking at Carisi expectantly.

“Sure thing, Lieu,” Carisi said, bouncing to his feet. “I, uh, I was actually hoping, since I’m supposed to be meeting up with him later anyway, and since we don’t have anything pressing right now, that you might let me just hang out at his office?”

He sounded like a kid asking for permission from his mom and felt himself blush accordingly, especially when Olivia frowned at him. “Are you asking me for permission to leave work early so that you can go on a date with Barba?”

Carisi shrugged, feeling his flush spreading down his neck. “Uh, yeah?”

Olivia stared at him for a long moment, her expression mostly neutral. Then she shrugged. “Fine. But you’re on call, so if something comes up—”

“I know, Lieu, thanks,” Carisi said, snatching the file from her and heading towards the elevators before Rollins could volunteer to accompany him if only to try to get more information out of him.

The trip over to Barba’s office was uneventful, and Carisi was actually grateful for the opportunity to clear his head and to at least try to quash his nerves for how the evening was going to go. He even managed a smile for Carmen as he let himself into Barba’s office without knocking. “Counselor, I’ve got a file for you from the Lieu.”

Barba glanced up at him. “Did I miss the part where you knocked on my door and were given permission to come in?”

“Ah, c’mon, pretty sure I have special privileges by now,” Carisi said, giving Barba his more charming smile, thoroughly expecting Barba to scoff and roll his eyes.

Instead, something in Barba’s expression softened before he glanced up at the clock. “Don’t tell me you’re expecting to leave for dinner right now. Our reservations aren’t until 8.”

Carisi blinked at him. “Dinner?” he said, ignoring the simultaneous leap of his heart and sinking of his stomach. “I didn’t realize I’d be getting dinner out of this.”

Now Barba did roll his eyes as he reached out to grab the case file. “What, did you expect we’d be discussing this here?” he asked, opening the file and glancing down at it.

Honestly, Carisi hadn’t really been expecting anything, so he just shrugged. “Do you want me to go and come back?” he asked, glancing up at the clock as well.

“No, but if you’re going to stay, you’re going to be helpful,” Barba said, without looking up. He waved a hand in the vague direction of a stack of file folders. “Read through those. They’re all court cases with similar MOs and motives to the one I’m working on right now. Highlight any stated reason the judge gave for dismissing or reducing charges.”

Carisi nodded and grabbed a highlighter from Barba’s desk before settling down in a chair across from him, pulling the stack of folders closer to him and grabbing the one on top.

They worked in relative silence for the next couple of hours, and Carisi didn’t even realize how much time had passed until Barba threw the case file onto his desk with perhaps more force than was necessary before standing and stretching. “Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving,” Carisi said as his stomach gave a hopeful sort of growl. He stretched as well and Barba glanced over at him, his eyes lingering on Carisi’s face for too long to be a coincidence. “Problem, Counselor?”

“You have highlighter on your face,” Barba told him, sounding more than slightly amused by that.

Carisi blushed slightly and quickly tried to wipe his cheek off while ignoring the fact that Barba was still staring at him. “Did I get it?” he asked hopefully.

“Not even close,” Barba said with a snort.

Carisi scowled at him. “Then you want to wipe it off for me?”

Barba gave him a look. “Not a chance,” he said dismissively.

“Then you want me to go out in public with you with yellow highlighter on my face?” Carisi asked, putting his hands on his hips as he glowered at Barba.

Barba hesitated, clearly torn between his desire to maintain his carefully cultivated public appearance and his desire to let Carisi suffer, then huffed a sigh. “Fine,” he said, crossing around his desk and closing the space between them before reaching up to carefully rub his thumb over Carisi’s cheekbone.

Carisi tried not to hyperventilate, holding his breath as if he might somehow ruin the moment just by breathing, and all too soon, Barba rocked back on his heels, looking at Carisi’s cheek critically. “There,” he said, sounding satisfied. “Now you’re — well, I was going to say presentable, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Ha, ha,” Carisi said dryly. “So where are we going for dinner?”

Barba smirked at him. “Why, worried that there won’t be chicken parmesan or mozzarella sticks on the menu?”

Carisi rolled his eyes, following Barba out of his office. “I’ll have you know that despite what you think, I am a man of sophisticated tastes.”

“Ah, yes, I had forgotten that Staten Island was a veritable breeding ground for burgeoning foodies.”

Carisi glared at him. “Because the Bronx is so much better?”

Barba just looked amused. “Let me remind you of a little place known as Cambridge, Massachusetts.”

“Oh, is that where you developed your palate? Because I just assumed that was where you got a stick shoved so far up your ass that all you’d be able to taste was wood.”

Barba actually stopped in his tracks at that, looking at Carisi with something like newfound respect. “Believe it or not, Detective, that’s one I haven’t heard before. Well done.”

Carisi’s eyes widened in mock-surprise and he jokingly clutched his chest as he said, “A compliment? From Rafael Barba? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Rolling his eyes, Barba opened the door for Carisi even as he sniped, “Keep it up and you certainly won’t live to see tomorrow.”

Together they headed outside until Carisi paused, realizing he still didn’t know where they were going. “This way,” Barba said, placing a hand on Carisi’s back to steer him in the correct direction.

It wasn’t until two or three blocks later that Carisi realized Barba’s hand was still on his back.

He had somehow become so accustomed to the warm weight of Barba’s hand pressing against him that he had managed to walk three entire city blocks without internally freaking out, and frankly, he didn’t know if that thought should be impressive or depressing. Impressive, he supposed, in that his heart no longer leapt in his chest at the very thought; depressing, on the other hand, because of how _right_ it felt, and how much it would hurt when he walked next to Barba again only for Barba’s hands to remain stubbornly in his pockets.

Carisi was so absorbed in this thought that he almost didn’t notice that Barba had stopped, and he subsequently almost tripped over his own feet and looked even more like an idiot than usual. “Here?” he asked, gaping at the little French restaurant they had stopped in front of, at its dim lighting and intimate seating and flickering candles and everything else that screamed ‘date’.

“Here,” Barba said, holding the door open for Carisi. “They make the best squab in the city.” Carisi made a face at the thought of voluntarily eating pigeon and Barba smirked. “And I have it on good authority that their burgers are pretty good, too.”

Carisi rolled his eyes as he walked past Barba into the restaurant, watching as Barba spoke quietly to the maitre’d, who gestured for them both to follow him. “Just for that, I’m ordering the squab,” Carisi muttered to Barba before they both sat.

Barba’s smirk just widened.

Carisi picked up the menu and glanced at it without reading any of it. “So,” he started, figuring they should get things out of the way sooner rather than later. “Are we gonna actually talk about the boundaries you wanted to discuss at some point?”

Barba made a face and took a sip of water. “Why ruin a good meal with serious talk?” he asked, before changing the subject completely. “Red or white?”

“Wine?” Carisi asked. “If it’s all the same, I’ll take a beer. I think it goes better with squab.”

“Great, so white it is,” Barba said, rolling his eyes.

Carisi smiled and shook his head. “Fine,” he said easily. “I can’t have any anyway — I’m on call.”

Barba gave him a look. “You can have at least one glass,” he said dismissively.

After the waiter came and took their order — Carisi did indeed stubbornly order the squab, while Barba surprised him by ordering Dover sole — Carisi looked at Barba expectantly. “Ok, so if we’re not gonna discuss boundaries right away, what do you wanna talk about?”

Barba quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why don’t you start with something normal, like how was your day, Detective?”

Carisi rolled his eyes but nonetheless launched into a story about one of their recent cases and how Fin had talked him into barging on a john with a prostitute mid-act and when Carisi had gone to cuff the john, he had discovered that he was already handcuffed with a pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs. Barba laughed in all the right places and Carisi felt himself relax, surprised at how good of a time they were having together.

In fact, as the waiter brought first the wine and then their food, Carisi realized how much this really did feel like a date, and a shockingly good one at that. And despite the fact that he was as relaxed as he had been all day, his incessant worrying beginning to seem like it would come to nothing, the thought of this being even slightly like a real date made Carisi’s heart beat faster.

Barba was just in the middle of explaining the intricacies of one of the cases he was working on, their empty plates long since cleared, when his phone went off, and he frowned down at it before rolling his eyes. “Rita,” he told Carisi, when he saw his inquiring glance, and his expression soured. “She’s defending on a case that I’m prosecuting.”

“Does she want a deal?” Carisi asked. “Cuz, I mean, you can go ahead and call her if you need to. I don’t mind.”

Barba shook his head. “No,” he said dismissively. “Rita doesn’t want a deal, she just gets off on texting me all of the case law she intends to use as precedent to get the charges dismissed. It’s her way of flirting.”

Carisi stared at him. “You two have a very weird friendship.”

“That’s an understatement,” Barba said with a laugh, taking a sip of wine.

Carisi laughed lightly as well before asking, “So what’s the case with Rita about?”

Barba’s smile faded slightly. “Funny you should ask,” he muttered, sighing heavily. “It’s one of those cases that juries hate, all gray areas and coerced consent. Too many of them won’t listen past the defense of ‘but she said yes’ to understand ‘but she wasn’t really able to say no’.”

He stared off into space, his expression turning brooding, and Carisi frowned at him. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Barba said dismissively, though he gave Carisi a look that he couldn’t quite read. “Are you?”

Carisi’s frown deepened. “I’m fine,” he said, surprised by the question. “Great, even.” He hesitated before asking, “Why? What is this about?”

Barba sighed again. “This whole thing screams of coerced consent.”

If anything, that threw Carisi off more than anything. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean,” Barba said, a bite of impatience in his voice, “that you never really consented to this.”

Carisi stared at him. “Of course I did—” he started, but Barba cut him off.

“Coerced consent, as we’ve established, is not consent.” He looked at Carisi carefully. “Did you ever really feel like you were able to say no to all of this?”

He gestured around them, but Carisi knew he was talking about their entire fake relationship, and his heart sank because he had no good answer and thus was sorely tempted to lie. He _had_ felt pressured by the NYPD to agree to maintaining the fictional relationship, but that wasn’t why he had agreed to it in the first place.

He had agreed because he was pathetic and would take whatever relationship with Barba that he could, no matter how fake.

But, of course, there was no way he was actually going to tell Barba that. “I guess not,” he said reluctantly, and something in Barba’s expression tightened.

Before he could say anything, the waiter stopped by their table to ask if they wanted dessert, but Barba just shook his head. “No, but we’ll take the check when we can,” he said, his voice low.

Carisi fidgeted awkwardly. The entire evening had been going so well, but now he felt like with that one simple response, he had done something to ruin this — whatever this had been. The waiter reappeared almost instantly with the check and Barba grabbed it before Carisi could even put in a token protest that they should at least split it, sliding a credit card into the leather holder and handing it back to the waiter in one smooth move.

Then he looked expectantly at Carisi, tracing a finger down the stem of his wineglass. “After the Police Benefit Ball,” he said carefully, “we need to end this.”

Carisi felt the words like a punch to the gut and he was actually tempted to double over in a vain attempt to physically hold himself together. “Are you...are you breaking up with me?” he asked, using every ounce of strength that he had left to make it sound like a joke.

A flicker of irritation flashed across Barba’s face before he replaced it with his usual smirk. “I know you’re devastated, but try not to make a scene, Detective.”

“I’m not,” Carisi said, forcing a smile onto his face. “But I am curious as to why you feel like we need to break up.”

Barba rolled his eyes and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “The pressure on us is fading,” he said, something almost urgent in his tone, like he needed Carisi to understand. “And the longer we pretend to be together, the more people are going to expect us to act like an actual couple. And since any physical aspect of our fake relationship is obviously out of the question, we’re not going to be particularly convincing the longer we draw this out. Besides,” he added, with a sharp sort of smile, “it’s high time you found yourself a far more age-appropriate date.”

“I don’t know,” Carisi said with mock-reluctance, even if every word rang hollowly in his chest. “I was just getting used to fake-dating you. I don’t know how I’m going to find someone else to fake-date.”

Barba rolled his eyes. “Shockingly, you can always try dating someone for real, someone you can actually take home to meet your parents. After all, I’m sure there are plenty of men falling all over themselves to date you.”

His voice was so layered in sarcasm that Carisi couldn’t tell if it was meant to be an insult or not, and he settled for shrugging. “I mean, there’s undoubtedly more in line to date me than you,” he said, attempting to bring back their usual banter, but instead something darkened in Barba’s expression, and Carisi felt like he’d said the wrong thing and hastily tried to correct it. “But, uh, no need to end this on my account, Counselor. My love life had its problems long before you walked into it.”

More accurately, it had its problems _because_ Barba had walked into it, but that was another thing he was never going to tell Barba.

For some reason, that statement seemed to annoy Barba, who snapped, “I’m not doing this on your account, Detective.”

The waiter returned with Barba’s credit card and the slip for Barba to sign, and Barba hunched over it, signing with an unnecessary amount of force. Carisi winced at the look on Barba’s face when he straightened, and he quickly drained his glass of wine before joking, “So are you gonna pick a tux out for me for the benefit ball as well? Because I’d like to remind you that I’d really like a real bow tie.”

But Barba just brushed off the attempt at a joke. “Actually, I believe it’s customary for officers to wear their dress uniforms to the ball.”

Carisi thought about the last time he had worn his dress uniform, which had been to Sgt. Dodds’ funeral, and his gut twisted at the thought. Of course, this would be kind of a funeral in its own way, he thought darkly. A funeral for his fake relationship with Barba and any hope he had ever had of making it real.

Barba stood, avoiding Carisi’s eyes, and Carisi hastened to follow suit, feeling suddenly just as on edge as he had been several hours ago waiting for the shoe to drop. Now that it had, he wasn’t sure if the anticipation or the reality was worse. He bit back the need to apologize, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he had to apologize for, instead following Barba to the door and trying to ignore the way his heart was breaking with every step.

Once they got outside, Carisi lingered awkwardly as Barba pulled his phone out, undoubtedly ordering a Lyft or an Uber. “Thanks for dinner,” he offered.

Barba glanced up at him, his expression neutral. “It was the least I could do,” he said dismissively, and he hesitated for a moment before holding out his hand for Carisi to shake. “I look forward to seeing you at the benefit ball.”

Carisi stared down at his outstretched hand as if he wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do with it, but then he reached out to shake his hand. “Sure,” he said, his voice sounding strange even to him.

For a moment, their handshake felt like a fitting end to what had essentially been a business deal, but then Barba let the handshake linger, his hand soft and warm in Carisi’s, and Carisi realized a moment too late that they were standing entirely too close to be truly casual.

As Carisi looked down at Barba, at the lines that furrowed his brow and the green of his eyes and his slightly chapped lips, he was once again consumed by the desire to close the space between them and kiss him.

But as quickly as the moment had happened, Barba let go of Carisi’s hand and took a step away, his expression once again passive. “Get home safely, Detective,” he said in a low voice before ducking into the car that had just pulled up at the curb and leaving Carisi standing there, feeling more confused than ever.


	7. A Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carisi felt consumed by a sudden, overwhelming sense of _loss_ , and it didn’t make any sense. He hadn’t lost anything. This charade was coming to its natural conclusion, and frankly, he should be happy about that, be happy to no longer be lying to his friends and family, to no longer have to pretend to be in a relationship with Barba.
> 
> Then again, if Carisi was honest with himself, and he was trying desperately not to be, he had stopped pretending a long time ago, if ever he had been.
> 
> And maybe that’s where this sense of loss came in — maybe Carisi was finally coming to terms with the fact that he was losing the delusion he had so carefully crafted for himself, the delusion that what he had with Barba was anything other than what it was.

When this whole thing had begun, Carisi set up a Google news alert for his name. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, a way to keep on top of what was being said about him, and besides, at the time, he’d thought of the whole thing as a joke. Now, he dreaded every time his Apple Watch lit up with a notification.

Judging by the near constant chiming from his watch, someone had published something new and it was undoubtedly being reposted across the Internet. Carisi didn’t know if he had the heart to read whatever it was. Not now, not when it had been almost a week since Barba had dropped the bombshell that after the Police Benefit Ball in just a couple days, this fake relationship was over.

“Is that something you need to address?” Olivia asked with raised eyebrows as the notification alert again interrupted the silence in the squad car, nodding down at Carisi’s watch with something like amusement in her expression.

Carisi felt himself flush. “It’s nothing,” he said, quickly muting his watch. “Sorry.”

Olivia frowned slightly. “Something to do with Barba?” she asked shrewdly. “The perp doesn’t look like he’s going to be coming home anytime soon, so if you need to check on it, you can.” Carisi just shrugged, turning to stare out the window, though he could tell without looking that Olivia’s frown had deepened. “Is everything going ok with you two — with the whole situation?”

“It’s going fine, Lieu.”

If Olivia noticed Carisi’s overwhelming desire to not talk about it, she ignored it. “You’ve got the Police Benefit Ball coming up in a few days, right? That ought to be…”

She trailed off, clearly searching for the right word, and Carisi managed a weak smile. “Torture?” he supplied.

Olivia laughed lightly. “Something like that.”

Carisi shot her a furtive glance and weighed his options before saying, as nonchalantly as he could, “Well, it’ll be our last public event together. We’ve decided drop the whole charade after the ball.”

“Oh.” Somehow, Olivia managed to fit an entire _world_ of meaning into a single syllable and Carisi winced, ready for the interrogation that was almost certain to follow. “Why?”

That was not the question that Carisi expected, and he stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “I, uh — it’s, uh, complicated,” he stammered. “I mean, ok, it’s really not, actually. We just don’t really need to do it anymore. 1PP’s pretty much backed off and Barba says that the DA’s moved on to other things, so…”

He trailed off, unable to meet Olivia’s eyes and unwilling to read too much into the look on her face. Olivia sighed. “Carisi,” she started, but she broke off when Carisi’s phone and watch both vibrated with a sudden string of text messages. “Now what?”

Carisi glanced down at his phone and sighed. “Group text with my sisters,” he said apologetically. “Sorry, I’ll just—” He broke off, frowning down at what his sisters were saying, and he glanced back up at Olivia. “Actually, this may be something that I have to address.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Like I said, our perp doesn’t like he’s any hurry to get back, so go ahead.”

Nodding his thanks, Carisi swiped his phone open and clicked on the link to the article that Teresa had sent to the group text, followed by no fewer than eighteen heart-eye emojis. The article, or interview he realized as he glanced down at it, had been published by NYC OUTloud, which identified itself with a flashing rainbow banner at the top of their webpage as New York’s largest LGBT+ news site. Carisi felt himself frown as he started to scan the interview, his brow furrowing. 

> **_Manhattan’s very own bisexual Assistant District Attorney, Rafael Barba, made headlines last month when a New York Journal profile revealed he was in a long-term relationship with NYPD Detective Sonny Carisi. NYC OUTLoud’s Anthony Spencer caught up with Mr. Barba in between court cases to talk life, love, and how he and his partner have been dealing with their newfound fame._ **
> 
> **_Anthony Spencer: Thanks so much for taking the time to talk to me!_ **
> 
> _Rafael Barba: I’m fairly certain that I’m contractually obligated to speak to you or else I have to surrender my bisexual card._
> 
> **_AS: Hilarious! I know you prosecute some very serious cases, many of which have to do with sex crimes. Does having a sense of humor help keep you grounded during the hard cases?_ **
> 
> _RB: Well, it certainly doesn’t hurt._
> 
> **_AS: Let’s talk about your career with the DA’s office. You started in the Brooklyn DA’s office, correct?_ **

Carisi scrolled ahead in the interview. He already knew about Barba’s career, and he didn’t really feel the need to read the recapped version here. He paused when he saw the word ‘boyfriend’ for the first time in the interview, his brow furrowing even more as he continued to read.

> **_AS: Now, is it true that your boyfriend is also a lawyer?_ **
> 
> _RB: He has graduated law school and passed the Bar exam, yes, though I’m not sure he’s ever going to actually practice law._
> 
> **_AS: Why not?_ **
> 
> _RB: Obviously, I don’t want to speak for him—_
> 
> **_AS: But you know him best._ **
> 
> _RB: Well, that’s debatable. He has three sisters who would probably all claim the same thing._
> 
> **_AS: Ok, so why do you think he may not end up practicing law?_ **
> 
> _RB: I think he wants to do what will help the most people. That’s really what motivates him at the end of the day, and for now, that’s being a detective. He’s an incredible detective and I have no doubt if he continued with the NYPD, he’d go on to make sergeant and lieutenant and whatever else, as far as he wanted to climb up the ladder there. And if he chose to become a prosecutor, he’d undoubtedly end up being my boss one day. He’s just got this...this magnetic personality. You can’t help but like him._
> 
> **_AS: Was it love at first sight for you then?_ **
> 
> _RB: [laughs] God, no._
> 
> **_AS: No?_ **
> 
> _RB: He’s from Staten Island and when I first met him, he had a Tom Selleck-style mustache. I feel like both those things should speak for themselves._
> 
> **_AS: So how did he win you over?_ **
> 
> _RB: Persistence, mostly. [laughs] He’ll probably kill me for saying that, but it’s true. He and I worked closely together on a number of cases, and then he asked for my help with his law studies, including shadowing me which meant spending a lot of days together, and then a lot of late nights together, and it went from there. The more time that I spent with him, the more I realized that I couldn’t imagine my life without him. He’s honestly one of the best people I’ve ever met. So many people in our line of work tend to lose a part of themselves — I know I’m guilty of it. But no matter what he’s seen and been through, Sonny has always kept that part of him that’s just plain good. And he has absolutely no idea how rare that is, how amazing he is._
> 
> **_AS: It sounds like you really love him._ **
> 
> _RB: I guess I really do._
> 
> **_AS: What does the future hold for you two? Marriage, kids?_ **
> 
> _RB: In our line of work, it’s enough to make it from one day to the next, so we haven’t really talked about it. I’m sure Sonny would love to get married, to have kids and a family one day._
> 
> **_AS: You sound less sure._ **
> 
> _RB: Having a family was never really something I saw in my future._
> 
> **_AS: Really?_ **
> 
> _RB: Well, not until I met Sonny, anyway._

Carisi felt the breath catch in his throat and he stared at words until they became blurry, unable to even attempt to read the rest of the interview. It shouldn’t have hurt him as much as it did, to see the lies so neatly printed in front of him, but each word felt like a blow to his chest. It felt unspeakably cruel to read it laid out like this, every single thing he had ever wanted placed in front of him only to know that he would never actually have any of it.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until a tear fell onto his phone screen.

“Carisi?” Olivia’s voice was gentle, concerned, and Carisi hastily reached up to wipe his tears away with the heel of his hand. “Is everything ok?”

“It’s fine, Lieu,” Carisi said automatically, though he faltered when she reached out to touch his arm gently. “I’m sorry, I know we’re on a case and the last thing I should be is distracted.”

Olivia just shook her head. “Carisi—” She broke off, a strange look on her face. Then, in a much firmer voice, she told him, “You’re right. You shouldn’t be distracted. But you are. So why don’t you take some time, figure things out, and meet us back at the precinct?”

Carisi stared at her, feeling himself blush at his own stupidity. “I’m not gonna just leave you here alone,” he protested, his voice ragged.

“Amanda and Fin are in the other car,” Olivia pointed out evenly. “And we’ve got plenty of backup — unless you think that I can’t take care of myself.” Her tone was teasing, but Carisi just shook his head and she sighed. “Seriously, Carisi, go take care of whatever you need to take care of. You can always do all of our paperwork tonight, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Carisi did manage a weak smile at that. “Thanks, Lieu,” he said. “Gives me something to look forward to tonight, at least.”

Though Olivia smiled at his pathetic attempt at a joke, he could tell that she was still worried, and he quickly slid out of the squad car before she could change her mind and try to make him tell her what exactly was wrong.

He wasn’t sure that he could explain it even if he wanted to.

Carisi felt consumed by a sudden, overwhelming sense of _loss_ , and it didn’t make any sense. He hadn’t lost anything. This charade was coming to its natural conclusion, and frankly, he should be happy about that, be happy to no longer be lying to his friends and family, to no longer have to pretend to be in a relationship with Barba.

Then again, if Carisi was honest with himself, and he was trying desperately not to be, he had stopped pretending a long time ago, if ever he had been.

And maybe that’s where this sense of loss came in — maybe Carisi was finally coming to terms with the fact that he was losing the delusion he had so carefully crafted for himself, the delusion that what he had with Barba was anything other than what it was.

He was so stuck in his thoughts that he walked right past the subway entrance and had to double back. It wasn’t until he got to the subway platform that he even realized that he had no clue where he was going. There was no point going to Barba, no point in telling him that he didn’t want this to end, that the only thing he wanted to end was the pretend part — he knew how Barba felt, or, more accurately, didn’t feel.

Yet there was still no one that Carisi would rather see more.

His mind made up, Carisi got on the subway and let himself sink into numbness as he made his way to 1 Hogan Place. He didn’t want to read the rest of the interview — he didn’t want to even _think_ about the interview. He didn’t want to think about anything.

As soon as he got to 1 Hogan Place, Carisi made a beeline for Barba’s office, knowing that he was done with court for the day (and hating himself a little for the fact that he knew that, that he had memorized Barba’s schedule, that he had memorized more than that about him). “Is he in there?” he asked Carmen, not particularly caring if Barba was busy.

Carmen stood, frowning. “He is, but he’s with Ms. Calhoun—” Whatever her token protest was going to be was lost by Carisi wrenching Barba’s door open and striding inside.

Barba broke off mid-sentence and lit up at the sight of Carisi stalking into his office. “And here’s the man of the hour himself,” he told Rita Calhoun, who was looking from Barba to Carisi with something like calculation in her expression. “Detective, come say hello to Rita in hopes that she’ll use this as her cue to leave me alone.”

“Rita,” Carisi said curtly, and Rita’s expression tightened at his tone. Carisi knew that he was being rude, but seeing Barba sitting there and _smiling_ at him as if they were _fine_ , as if Carisi’s heart hadn’t been breaking the entire way over, had shifted Carisi’s hurt into something far closer to fury. “Persistence, Counselor?” he said in lieu of a greeting, and Barba’s smile faltered at the look on his face.

“Rita, perhaps you’d better give us a moment,” Barba said, his eyes not leaving Carisi’s. “Carmen will be in touch so we can discuss a deal.”

“Of course,” Rita said smoothly, picking up her bag and making her way from Barba’s office without even a token protest, the clearest sign that she didn’t want to be around for whatever was going to happen next.

Barba finally dragged his eyes away from Carisi as he bent to rummage in his desk only to reemerge with two glasses and a bottle of scotch. “Drink, Detective?” he asked.

Carisi glanced up at the clock. “It’s only 3 o’clock.”

Barba shrugged and poured himself a generous two fingers. “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” he said, with a dark sort of smile. “I’m done with court for the day. Besides…” He trailed off, his tone turning pointed. “I have a feeling I’m going to need a drink to deal with whatever you’re here to discuss.” He loosened his tie before taking a sip of scotch. “I assume you saw the interview. And I assume my prediction that you would kill me for saying that it was your persistence that won me over isn’t too far off.”

“Of course I saw the interview,” Carisi snapped, ignoring the latter part of Barba’s statement. “Tell me, Counselor, is this what you had in mind when you said that we needed _boundaries_?” Something tightened in Barba’s face and he threw back the rest of his scotch as Carisi continued, “Or maybe this is what you meant when you talked about coerced consent.”

Barba’s expression darkened. “First and foremost, I gave that interview a while ago before we had any conversation about boundaries.” He poured himself a second glass of scotch. “Secondly, if I had known that this was how you were going to react, I obviously never—”

“Never what?” Carisi asked, a challenge in his tone as he glared at Barba. “Never would’ve used our actual friendship — or what I considered a friendship — as the basis to scoring political points? Never would’ve treated this thing like the game you clearly think it is?”

Barba looked taken aback by that, and he set his scotch down without taking a sip. “I don’t think this a game,” he said, his tone measured and even, though calmness was the last thing Carisi wanted from him right then. “And I certainly consider this a friendship at the very least.” A frown furrowed his brow. “But I certainly don’t think this interview goes beyond the coerced consent we’ve already discussed and for which I’ve already apologized.”

It was the wrong thing to say. “You don’t _think—_ ” Carisi broke off, leaning over Barba’s desk and resting his palms flat against the surface to stop them from curling into fists. “You think I consented to this, to having my feelings flaunted all over the internet?”

“That’s not what I said,” Barba interrupted, but Carisi ignored him.

“I didn’t consent to this, Counselor. I didn’t consent to you talking about our friendship and the time we’ve spent together as if it meant a goddamn thing to you when I know for a fact it didn’t. And I sure as shit didn’t consent to you talking about our _future_ together when what we have here is gonna be _done_ in a few days’ time.”

The tears Carisi had tried to push down threatened to rise again at that and he broke off and looked away, completely missing the look that flitted across Barba’s face before he slammed his second glass of scotch. Then Barba sighed and ran a hand across his face. “What do you want from me, Carisi?” he asked tiredly.

Carisi stared at him for a moment, a thousand different things to say welling in his throat, though none of them seemed willing to come out. Slowly, he shook his head and straightened. “I don’t want anything from you,” he said, his anger seeping out of him and leaving him feeling exhausted and defeated. “You wanted to end this after the Benefit Ball? I’ll do you one better, Counselor — I’m done now. Have fun at the ball, because I won’t be joining you.”

With far more determination than he actually felt, Carisi turned, ready to stalk out of Barba’s office, but as much as he wished it didn’t, Barba’s voice made him pause, for just a moment. “Carisi…” He had never heard Barba sound like that, tired and sad and _small_. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Carisi said, not turning around, not willing to look at Barba. “So am I.”

He left Barba’s office as quickly as he could without running, his heart pounding so painfully in his chest that he wondered vaguely if it was possibly to die of a broken heart. Still, he made it all the way to the elevators before he finally allowed himself to cry, just for a moment.

Then he took a deep breath and set his shoulders, lifting his chin in defiance as the elevator doors slid open.

It was over.

And Sonny Carisi was a free man.

He just wished it didn’t hurt this much.


	8. The Benefit Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Everything ok?” Rollins asked, looking concerned.
> 
> For one wild moment, Carisi considered telling her exactly what was wrong. He considered telling her that for the past several weeks, he and Barba had knowingly deceived their closest friends and colleagues for reasons that Carisi was certain were good at the time, though for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to remember what they were. And along the way, the crush he had thought he had gotten over had reared its ugly head and when it seemed like he was going to get his heart even more broken than he had anticipated, he had ended things.
> 
> But telling Rollins wouldn’t actually make him feel better; if anything, it would make him feel worse.

Carisi’s phone buzzed and he looked down at it automatically, half-hoping to see the name ‘Rafael Barba’ flash across the screen, even though he knew far too well that was the last thing he should care about.

Besides, it wasn’t Barba. Just as it hadn’t been Barba any of the other times Carisi’s phone had buzzed over the past two days. Barba, it seemed, was set on maintaining radio silence since Carisi had ended things, probably in an attempt to give him space.

It just made Carisi miss him more.

Carisi sighed and clicked ‘ignore’ on his phone, sending his sister straight to voicemail. There’d be hell to pay for that later, but right now, he was ducking calls from his entire family, not wanting to be forced to put on a brave face or answer their endless questions.

Instead, he pulled the frankly embarrassingly large pile of paperwork on his desk towards him. With everything that had been going on with Barba, he’d let himself fall behind, and he figured now was as good a time as any to make a dent in it.

He had just opened the first case file when Rollins strolled out of Olivia’s office and frowned at him as she sat down in her chair. “What’re you still doing here?” she asked.

Carisi blinked at her. “Whaddya mean?” he said.

Rollins glanced up at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be taking off sometime soon?” she asked. “Isn’t the Benefit Ball tonight? I thought Liv told you that you could head home early so that you could get all spiffed up.”

She winked at him and Carisi forced a smile onto his face. “Oh, right,” he said, though clearly without the requisite enthusiasm, since Rollins’s smile faded into a frown.

“Everything ok?” she asked, looking concerned.

For one wild moment, Carisi considered telling her exactly what was wrong. He considered telling her that for the past several weeks, he and Barba had knowingly deceived their closest friends and colleagues for reasons that Carisi was certain were good at the time, though for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to remember what they were. And along the way, the crush he had thought he had gotten over had reared its ugly head and when it seemed like he was going to get his heart even more broken than he had anticipated, he had ended things.

But telling Rollins wouldn’t actually make him feel better; if anything, it would make him feel worse.

He debated telling her the falsehood version of what was wrong, that he and Barba had broken up. He hadn’t told anyone yet, not even the Lieu, figuring that his silence was the sole favor he was still willing to do for Barba, maintaining their charade until the right time to end it.

Because that’s just who Sonny Carisi was: considerate to the end.

Carisi realized that Rollins was staring at him, and he forced the smile back onto his face. “It’s fine,” he assured her, hoping in vain that she would let it go.

Rollins, of course, didn’t let it go. Her frown deepened and she leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. “What’s goin’ on?” she asked. “Did you have a fight with Barba? Do I have to kick his ass?”

That, at least, was a question that Carisi felt was easier to answer truthfully than bother denying, and he shrugged. “We had a fight,” he muttered. “But no one’s ass needs to be kicked.”

Rollins sighed. “Well, buck up,” she told him bracingly. “After all, you get to spend the night drinking champagne and ogling Barba in a tux, and since you and I both know _exactly_ what Barba looks like in a tux, you’re in for a treat.”

She winked, but Carisi just rolled his eyes, even as his heart sank. It was as big a fantasy as their entire fake relationship had been, and he knew that it shouldn’t hurt still, should probably never have hurt in the first place, but the thought of seeing Barba in a tux, of walking into the Benefit Ball immaculate in his dress uniform with Barba on his arm and spending the evening dancing with him was exactly what Carisi would give almost anything to be doing. And that thought _hurt_.

Some of what he was feeling must have flashed across his face because Rollins’s smile faltered. “Carisi—” she started, but luckily, he was saved from having to offer an explanation by Olivia walking out of her office and giving Carisi a surprised look.

“Carisi?” she asked. “What’re you still doing here? Didn’t I tell you that you could go a half hour ago?”

“You did, Lieu,” Carisi confirmed, practically leaping to his feet and gathering a few case files together before grabbing his jacket and telling her, and Rollins, “I was just on my way out.”

With that, he headed as quickly to the elevators as possible without running, ignoring Rollins as she called after him, “If you somehow have time to work on paperwork, clearly you and Barba aren’t doing something right!”

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Carisi sagged and let out a sigh of relief. He felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to laugh, something like hysteria bubbling in his chest, because Rollins had no idea just how right she was: clearly, he and Barba weren’t doing something right.

* * *

 

Once Carisi got back to his apartment, his first task was dumping the case files he had brought with him on his coffee table in the vain hope that he would actually manage to get some work done that evening instead of just sulking. Then he ordered himself some food and was about to sit down on his couch to do his paperwork when he remembered that he wasn’t technically on the clock at the moment.

So instead, he went to the fridge and got himself a beer.

“It’s the little things,” he said out loud to himself as he sat back down on the couch with a satisfied sigh. Even paperwork was manageable with a drink or two. Maybe that’s why Barba tended to bring his work to Forlini’s with him.

Carisi’s expression twisted and he took a swig of his beer before setting it down with perhaps more force than was entirely necessary on his coffee table. The entire point of this evening was to _not_ think about Barba, and he scowled down at the case file open in front of him without really seeing it.

Of course, not thinking about Barba would’ve been easier without his dress uniform hanging on his bedroom door directly in his line of sight. He had sent it out to be dry-cleaned and hadn’t bothered to put it back in his closet at the time, assuming he would be wearing it soon.

Now it just hung there, mocking him.

Carisi snorted and ran a tired hand over his face. He was in truly pathetic straits if he felt like his own clothing was mocking him.

Luckily, a knock on the door managed to dredge Carisi from the depths of his brooding, and he stood, pulling his wallet out of his pocket so that he could pay for his food.

When he opened the door, however, it was not to the Chinese restaurant delivery guy, but rather to a Fed-Ex delivery guy, package in hand. “Dominick Carisi?” the Fed-Ex guy asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Carisi said, confusion furrowing his brow.

The Fed-Ex guy didn’t notice, just handing over his electronic scanner with a curt, “Need your signature.” Carisi blinked but scrawled his signature anyway before the Fed-Ex guy practically shoved the package at him with a muttered, “Have a nice day.”

“Yeah, you too,” Carisi called at his retreating back before returning to his apartment, frowning down at the package. He hadn’t ordered anything, and since there was no immediately visible return address, his cop paranoia was beginning to get the best of him.

Then he snorted. He was being ridiculous.

He ripped the package open, letting out a low whistle when he saw a bottle of very fancy looking liquor inside. “Glenmorangie Signet,” he read aloud as he lifted the bottle out of the box, his Staten Island accent undoubtedly butchering the Scottish name. He could imagine the look Barba would give him to hear him try to say it, and he shook his head quickly in an attempt to force the image out.

Fortunately, he was distracted by a plain white card tucked into the box, and he set the bottle of whisky down and picked the card up, unfolding it to read the message inside.

His heart skipped painfully at the far-too familiar scrawl inside:

_Carisi—_

_If you can manage to forgive me, please join me at the Benefit Ball tonight._

_—R. Barba_

Carisi rolled his eyes. “What a heartwarming apology,” he muttered, even if he couldn’t help but glance at dress uniform, his heart pounding traitorously loud in his chest. It would be easy, pathetically easy, to just put his dress uniform on and go to the ball and—

And what? And keep pretending like this was something that it wasn’t? Or at least pretend like a bottle of what he was sure was very expensive scotch was supposed to fix this or make him feel better?

He tossed the card down on his kitchen counter and picked the bottle of whisky up again, hefting it in his hand as he considered it. Maybe scotch would make him feel better — or at the very least, he reasoned, already making his way into the kitchen for a glass and some ice, it might finally distract him enough from thinking about Barba and the Benefit Ball.

Besides, he’d never had what was sure to be at least $100 scotch before.

As it turned out, after pouring himself a generous three fingers of scotch and returning to the couch, $100 scotch tasted awfully similar to $15 scotch, and he again could clearly picture the look on Barba’s face if Carisi were to tell him that.

Scowling, he took a huge gulp of scotch, pretending that he enjoyed the burn of it going down.

Pretending that each sip didn’t just make him miss Barba more.

At least the scotch brought with it a certain numbness that Carisi welcomed, a numbness that did allow him to work on his paperwork and even get a decent amount of it done. He was grimacing his way through his third glass a couple of hours later when his phone rang, and he instantly looked down at it, expecting once again to see Barba’s name.

Instead, he was surprised to see that it was Olivia calling, especially since he was supposed to be at the ball right now, and she undoubtedly knew that. “Hey, Lieu, what’s up?” Carisi said as he answered his phone.

“Where are you?” Olivia demanded, practically shouting to be heard over some kind of commotion in the background.

Carisi frowned. “I’m in my apartment,” he told her.

“You’re not at the Benefit Ball?”

Carisi’s brow furrowed and sighed, because he realized a second too late that this was going to require some kind of explanation, and one he wasn’t necessarily ready to give. “No, Lieu, I—”

But Olivia cut him off without waiting for his explanation. “Listen,” she said, suddenly much calmer than before. Too calm — the kind of calm she normally used with suspects or victims on the verge of losing it, and a calm belied by the sirens Carisi could hear going on in the background. “I need you to not panic.”

Carisi suddenly felt something like dread curl in the pit of his stomach, connecting the dots ahead of Olivia, her questions about his whereabouts and the sirens he could hear, and he stood automatically, turning to stare the card lying open on his kitchen counter, the one asking Carisi to join Barba at the ball. “Olivia, what’s going on?” he demanded.

“There’s a hostage situation at the Benefit Ball. And I haven’t been able to reach Barba.”


	9. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I beg your pardon?” Carisi said, as calmly as he could manage, drawing himself up to his full height, a good couple of inches above the portly chief’s own height.
> 
> The chief frowned up at him. “You’re not going in there,” he said. “My men are gonna have their hands full dealing with the hostage takers, they don’t need to worry about you and your feelings on top of everything else.”
> 
> Carisi could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and he took a step closer to the chief, not caring that he was getting in his face, not caring that he was out of line. “Listen,” he all but snarled, “this has nothing to do with my _feelings_. I’m goin’ in after him with or without your permission, and—”
> 
> “Detective Carisi, _stand down_.”

Carisi panicked.

He could taste the bitterness of pure adrenaline as he stared wildly around his apartment, his heart beating painfully fast in his chest. “I’m on my way,” he told Olivia, barely registering her response.

“No, Carisi, stay put,” Olivia was saying, but Carisi ignored her, grabbing his shoes from where he had toed them off by the door when he got home and shoving his feet inside. “There’s nothing you can do here, and you’ll just be in ESU’s way.” He grabbed his sidearm and his badge from where he had left them on his kitchen counter and returned them to their proper place on his belt, holding his phone between his shoulder and his ear. “Seriously, I’ll let you know if there’s any update.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” Carisi said, hanging up before Olivia could again try to order him to stay in his apartment. As if there was any way in hell that Carisi wasn’t going to drop everything and rush to the scene.

Even if there was absolutely nothing that he could do, Carisi was going to be there. Just...just in case.

He couldn’t stop thinking of the worst case scenarios as he took the stairs down from his apartment two at a time, and in a desperate attempt to block it out, he pulled his cellphone out and called Barba. When the call went straight to voicemail, his grip on his phone tightened. “Goddamnit, Barba, call me back,” he snarled into his phone. ‘C’mon, I need to know you’re ok. You _have_ to be ok, you _have_ —”

He broke off, his throat tightening, and he hung up his phone without another word. He wouldn’t have been able to say anything else anyway.

Even though he knew he shouldn’t drive, knew that the two-and-a-half glasses of scotch burning in his stomach spelled nothing but bad news for him behind the wheel of a car, Carisi couldn’t wait for a cab or an Uber, not with the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him he had to get to Barba, had to get to the scene, had to make sure that he was ok.

So he slipped into his car and took off in the direction of the hotel hosting the Benefit Ball, driving faster than he probably should even under the best of circumstances.

The entire way to the scene, Carisi kept playing his last conversation with Barba over and over in his head, hearing Barba say, his soft, sad voice a never ending loop that made Carisi’s stomach clench with every repeated word, _“Carisi...I’m sorry.”_

_“Carisi...I’m sorry.”_

_“Carisi...I’m—”_

Carisi slammed his fist against his steering wheel. “Come the fuck on,” he shouted at the car in front of him, which had slammed on its brakes for no apparent reason.

He didn’t want the last words Barba ever said to him to be an apology.

Barba had owed him an apology, to be sure — Carisi wasn’t going to deny that. But for that to be the last thing that Barba said to him?

Carisi’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

He could practically feel his stubborn anger at Barba dissipate as he drove, as his thoughts turned to a fervent prayer, a desperate attempt to bargain with God. Even though the good Catholic in him knew that wasn’t how prayer worked, he couldn’t help but try: _if he got to Barba in time, he’d go to Confession every day, he’d call his sisters more than once a month, he’d forgive Barba…_

Was there really anything he needed to forgive?

Because maybe all of this was on Carisi a little bit, too. Maybe he should’ve been honest from the start, should’ve told Barba how his heart beat double time whenever Barba walked into a room, how he’d gone into this knowing that his heart would get broken but knowing that it’d be worth it to even just be able to pretend for a moment that they were together, how he stopped pretending so long ago now that it just made it hurt worse when he remembered that it was all still pretend for Barba and that’s why he had lashed out the way that he did, how he’d tried denying it and hiding it but somewhere along the line he fell for Barba and he didn’t want this to end. Not like this. Not ever.

Barba had to be ok, because Carisi had to tell him that. Now, while he still had the chance and while he was still able to muster the courage that pure adrenaline had shot into his veins.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sudden flood of flashing lights from the squad cars barricading the road a couple of blocks from the hotel hosting the Benefit Ball. Carisi pulled over and got out of his car, looking around automatically for Olivia. He didn’t see her, but he did see someone he recognized and didn’t hesitate before jogging over.

“Chief Gabriel,” he called, and the ESU incident commander looked up at him. A moment too late, Carisi realized what he must look like, having forgotten his suit jacket at his apartment, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled to his elbows and probably permeating the unmistakable scent of scotch.

Still, Chief Gabriel was courteous if confused when he shook Carisi’s hand. “Det. Carisi. I didn’t realize Special Victims had been called in to respond.”

“We haven’t,” Carisi said, a little too quickly. “But our ADA’s inside, so I figured I’d come help as much as I could. I’m up on my tactical certification, so just, y’know, point me in the direction of a vest and I’m good to go.”

But a flicker of recognition had crossed crossed the chief’s face when Carisi mentioned Barba, and he realized that of course Chief Gabriel probably knew about him and Barba. _Everyone_ knew about him and Barba. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, Detective,” Gabriel said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Carisi stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, the hotel’s on lockdown, everyone in the line of fire has been evacuated, and the hostage negotiation team is doing what they do.” Gabriel paused. “So if you think you’re gonna be rushing in to save your little boyfriend, while I appreciate your offer to help, I think we’re covered.”

On any other day, under any other circumstances, Carisi would’ve let it roll off his back. He’d dealt with shit like this since the academy and learned a long time ago to pick his battles.

And this battle was one he was going to fight.

“I beg your pardon?” he said, as calmly as he could manage, drawing himself up to his full height, a good couple of inches above the portly chief’s own height.

The chief frowned up at him. “You’re not going in there,” he said. “My men are gonna have their hands full dealing with the hostage takers, they don’t need to worry about you and your feelings on top of everything else.”

Carisi could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and he took a step closer to the chief, not caring that he was getting in his face, not caring that he was out of line. “Listen,” he all but snarled, “this has nothing to do with my _feelings_. I’m goin’ in after him with or without your permission, and—”

“Detective Carisi, _stand down_.”

Olivia’s voice cracked like a whip, every word banded with steel, and Carisi took a step back, feeling Olivia’s hand on his arm tugging him away from the chief, who at least managed to look a little ruffled. Carisi took a deep, shaky breath before looking over at her, at the slightly shocked expression on her face, as if the last thing she had expected was to find was her detective shouting at a deputy police chief. Her expression alone was enough to take all the fight out of him. “Lieu—” he started, but Olivia cut him off.

“I get it, Carisi, really I do, but Chief Gabriel is right.” Her tone was firm and left no room for argument, even as Carisi shook his head slowly. “I told you to stay at your apartment for a reason. If you think I’m letting you go in there with ESU, you’re out of your mind. You’d only be in the way, and if anything, you’d end up putting Barba in more danger than he’s already in.”

Carisi opened his mouth to argue, to tell Olivia that he knew what he was doing, that he wouldn’t be in anyone’s way, that he’d drive himself crazy if he was forced to stay outside, but Olivia didn’t even give him the chance to speak. “Here,” she said, shoving a bulletproof vest at him, her expression serious and tight with concern. “Put this on in case they open fire but stay back — that’s an order, Carisi. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Carisi managed, his voice hoarse, and it was only then that Olivia’s expression softened, just slightly.

“Call Barba again,” she commanded, and if Carisi hadn’t felt like he’d just had the wind knocked out of him he’d ask how she knew he’d called in the first place. But then again, Olivia was looking at him like she actually did understand, like she knew exactly how Carisi was feeling right now, so maybe it wasn’t a surprise that she had guessed that. “See if you can get through to him. If you can, let me know. If not…” She trailed off. “Either way, keep back. Let ESU do their jobs.”

Carisi jerked his head in a wordless nod before pulling out his phone with numb fingers and dialing Barba’s number automatically as he walked back toward the line of squad cars. The call again went to voicemail and Carisi sucked in a deep breath, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping his phone.

This time, he hung up without leaving a message. There was nothing he wanted to say to Barba’s voicemail, and everything he wanted to say to the man himself.

Suddenly, a loud _bang_ burst through the night and Carisi whirled around, his hand automatically dropping to his gun and not moving as he watched ESU storm the building. There were shouts, muffled screams and gunshots from inside the building and Carisi sprinted forward, his heart pounding in his chest, Liv’s order be damned.

Then, just as suddenly, he heard as if from far away someone’s voice crackle over the police radio of a nearby officer: “All clear. Two suspects in custody, one shooter dead on scene.” Carisi paused in his step and held his breath, waiting for the rest of the report. “Multiple hostages with injuries.”

Carisi didn’t wait for the rest of the report, running at full speed directly toward the building. ESU was starting to bring hostages out and Carisi searched among them, looking for the familiar sight of Barba’s face.

When he didn't find Barba in the crowd, Carisi pushed past the emerging ball attendees and ESU officers, shouldering his way into the building, his hand again twitching toward the gun at his side, even if he wasn't in any immediate danger.

His eyes stung at the lingering smoke from the smoke grenade, and he realized belatedly that the bang he had heard had been from a flashbang, judging by the disoriented expression on most of the hostages’ faces as they were led outside.

Carisi strode through the ballroom but he didn't spot Barba among the exiting guests either, and his heart sank even further, tasting bile in the back of his throat. He grabbed the arm of a passing ESU officer. “Are there any other hostages?” he demanded hoarsely.

The officer pulled his arm out of Carisi’s grip, glaring at him through his tactical headgear. “The only other hostages were the injured ones — they were taken out the back to the ambulance.”

Carisi felt a sting in his eyes that had nothing to do with the leftover smoke and he swallowed, hard. Wordlessly, he turned to head back outside.

He noticed in a detached sort of way that there were some mild injuries among the exiting hostages, mostly some nasty-looking bruises and a couple of people who seemed to be having a bad reaction to the smoke. Which meant that any of those taken out the back of the hotel had to have had much more serious injuries. Which meant Barba—

He couldn’t bear to finish the thought.

Carisi almost walked smack into Olivia when he exited the hotel, and she could tell after one look at his face that he hadn’t found Barba. “Do you know where he is?” she asked, concern clear in her tone.

He shook his head. “I don’t—” His voice broke. “I dunno. He wasn’t inside, and ESU said the only other hostages were the ones taken to the hospital.”

Olivia’s expression tightened, and she looked around. “Officer Murphy,” she called, and a patrol officer that Carisi vaguely recognized as just having started at the 16th precinct turned their way. “Take Det. Carisi in your squad car to ADA Barba’s apartment.”

Carisi made a soft noise in the back of his throat that might have been a protest, and Olivia just shook her head. “Go and verify that he’s not there,” she said in a low voice. “Just in case. You weren’t here tonight when you were supposed to be, so maybe…”

She trailed off and Carisi nodded slowly, something warm, something like hope, spreading through his chest for the first time all evening. Olivia managed a small, slightly grim smile at the look on his face. “I’ll verify with the EMTs in case he was taken somewhere, but in the meantime, check his apartment. Keep me posted. Alright?”

A small part of Carisi knew that Olivia was only trying to find something to keep him busy and out of everyone’s way, but the larger part of him didn’t care. Liv was right — Carisi hadn’t been at the ball when ostensibly he was supposed to be there. Maybe Barba had also skipped out.

Then Carisi remembered the note included with the bottle of whisky Barba sent over and his heart sank. Barba was supposed to have been there, was supposed to have been waiting to see if Carisi showed, ready to mend whatever had broken between them — would it say more about Barba or Carisi if Barba hadn’t actually shown up for that?

With that utterly cheerful thought in mind, Carisi followed Officer Murphy to her squad car, barely registering the fact that his own car was still parked at the scene, that he would at some point have to come back and retrieve it.

Getting to Barba’’s apartment was the far more important task.

Once he was seated in Officer Murphy’s car, Carisi rattled off Barba’s address, well aware that he had no good reason to have it memorized and frankly not caring. He would’ve been content to stare out the window, to stare at the passing buildings and try to slow his racing heartbeat, but Officer Murphy apparently had other plans.

“Is...is ADA Barba the one who tried the cops in the Terrence Reynolds case?” she asked timidly.

Carisi glanced over at her, his shoulders tense. “Yeah,” he said shortly, dismissively, hoping it would be the end of it.

But Officer Murphy then asked, “And was he the one—” but Carisi didn’t let her finish.

“Yeah, he was probably the one,” he snapped, his nerves well past their breaking point for the evening and not really caring that he was taking things out on a rookie patrol officer so fresh from the academy that he could practically smell how green she was. “Barba’s done a lot of shit that some cops don’t like. But he’s a good man, and he cares about getting justice for the people that need it the most. And honestly, if some cops paid more attention to that, we wouldn’t have the problems that we do in the first place.”

Officer Murphy shot him a wide-eyed glance before looking back at the road, her shoulders tense. After a long moment, when Carisi had finally gone back to staring out the window in brooding silence, Officer Murphy finally spoke up again. “You must really love him.” Carisi shot her a sharp look but didn’t say anything, didn’t bother denying it, not here, not now, driving as they were towards Barba’s apartment in the desperate hope that Barba was there and not bleeding out in ambulance somewhere. “To stick up for him, when so many of your fellow officers talk shit about him. I can only imagine how hard that would be,” she elaborated, after a momentary silence.

Carisi sucked in a breath, his own feelings far more of a mess than could neatly be described as that. As Officer Murphy finally pulled the car over in front of Barba’s apartment building, Carisi sighed, heavily, and told Murphy, “Well, you’re not wrong there.”

It was as close to admitting it as he felt like he was able to at the moment.

“Stay here,” he told the officer, getting out of the car without waiting to hear any argument about backup and protocol. Chances were, after all, no matter how much Carisi wished it weren’t true, that Barba was in an ambulance somewhere being rushed to a hospital with God only knew what injuries.

And if, no matter how much Carisi had prayed on the way over, Barba wasn’t in his apartment, the last thing Carisi needed was an audience for when he finally lost what shred of self-control he was barely hanging onto.

Carisi didn’t bother buzzing up to Barba’s apartment, merely rapping on the door with his knuckles and, when the doorman responded, looking confused, holding his badge up. “Police business,” he said roughly. “There’s been a hostage situation, and I’m here to check on ADA Barba.”

“A hostage situation?” the doorman repeated, confused, though he let Carisi inside. “What does that have to do with Mr. Barba?”

“Everything,” Carisi said grimly as he brushed past him, forgoing the elevator, though it looked much more stable than the one in Carisi’s building, and instead taking the stairs two at a time, desperate to get up to Barba’s floor.

He was breathing heavily when he finally reached Barba’s floor, and he took a moment to catch his breath before striding purposefully down the hall, stopping in front of Barba’s door and taking another deep breath before pounding on the door with his fist. “Barba!” he called, as loudly as he dared given Barba’s neighbors who would probably not appreciate the intrusion. “Barba, are you in there?”

There was no answer and Carisi sagged, leaning forward to hold himself up against the door frame, his heart stuttering painfully in his chest. Barba wasn’t there, which meant Barba — which meant Barba was en route to a hospital somewhere and Liv had sent him on a wild goose chase to keep him from having a meltdown at the scene.

Carisi took a deep, anguished breath and stared at the door, contemplating kicking it in, just to verify, just to check every corner in case it yielded some secret, any secret.

The thought was insanity, but Carisi didn’t care. Maybe he was insane; maybe this entire thing had been insane from the get. But he couldn’t help but feel like loving Barba was the only thing in his life that had ever made any sense, and now he didn't even have that.

Without warning, the lock on Barba’s door clicked, and Carisi reeled back, eyes wide as he let out the breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding in a _woosh_. His shock was replaced by a flood of relief as the door swung open to reveal Barba, squinting up at him. Barba, dressed not in a tux for the Benefit Ball but in a t-shirt and sweatpants. Barba, whose hair and clothes were rumpled as if he had been asleep.

Barba, safe and alive and blinking at Carisi in confusion. “Carisi?” he asked, his voice scratchy from sleep. “What are you doing here?”

Carisi didn’t even hesitate, just crossing to him in two long strides, cupping his cheek with one hand and balling the other in Barba’s shirt before closing the remaining space between them and pressing his lips against Barba’s in a searing kiss.


	10. Disclosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a moment, something in Barba’s expression softened, but then he sighed and shook his head. “Well, you found me,” he said, with what sounded to Carisi like forced levity. “So now you can get back to the scene, or whatever.”
> 
> Carisi stared at him. “What?”
> 
> Barba looked at him evenly. “You found me, you verified I was ok, there is no further reason for you to be standing in my apartment.”
> 
> “Not even to give you an explanation for why I just shoved my tongue down your throat?”

For one brief moment, Barba returned Carisi’s kiss, his arms wrapping around Carisi’s waist and tugging him closer, and Carisi allowed himself to revel in the pure ecstasy of finally, _finally_ kissing Barba.

But then, Barba pulled back, his expression strangely blank. “Would you, uh, like to come in, Detective?” he asked, forestalling any suggestive way that Carisi might’ve taken that by adding, “We clearly need to talk.”

Carisi nodded shortly and followed Barba inside, feeling suddenly awkward and tongue-tied. He bounced nervously on the balls of his feet as Barba quickly went and turned off the TV before shoving his hands in his pockets and looking back at Carisi. “So,” he started, his voice low. “What, if I may ask, was that about?”

His tone was mild, detached, and Carisi felt himself flush. “I, uh, I—” He broke off, just now realizing that Barba was _here_ , that he had been at his apartment the entire time. “You weren’t at the Benefit Ball,” he said accusingly.

Barba glanced down at himself and back up at Carisi. “What was your first clue?” he asked dryly.

“That’s not the point,” Carisi snapped, his hands on his hips, bracketing his badge and his gun. “The point is, I thought you were hurt, or dead!”

“Dead?” Barba repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Why would you think I was dead?”

Carisi stared at him, realizing for the first time that Barba had no clue what had happened. “There was a hostage situation at the Benefit Ball,” he said, and Barba’s eyes widened.

“A hostage situation?” he asked sharply. “Was anyone injured? What happened?”

“That’s what I wanna know,” Carisi snapped. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

Barba blinked. “My…” He trailed off. “Oh, shit.” He bent down to snatch his cellphone off of his coffee table. “My battery died,” he muttered, to no one in particular. “I was waiting to hear from—” He broke off, his cheeks suddenly tinged pink. “And I forgot to plug my phone in before I dozed off.”

Quickly, Barba crossed to his briefcase and dug in it for his phone charger before plugging his phone in and turning back to Carisi. “So what—” he started, pausing when his phone dinged.

And then dinged again, repeatedly, Barba’s eyebrows raising as he glanced down at his phone and the assumed flood of messages he was receiving. Barba scrolled through the messages on his phone and rolled his eyes. “My life was apparently in imminent danger and all anyone sent me were text messages,” he muttered, as if he had forgotten that Carisi was standing there. “Oh, hang on, _one_ voicemail.”

Carisi’s mouth went dry, remembering that _he_ had left Barba a voicemail, and he opened his mouth to tell Barba just that, to tell him to disregard the panicked voicemail he had left, but it was too late. Barba already had his phone to his ear and he glanced up at Carisi. “It’s from you,” he said, rather unnecessarily, and broke off as the message started playing.

Carisi could hear the desperation in the tinny approximation of his voice coming out of Barba’s phone all the way across the room and he winced. He wasn’t the only one — Barba’s expression tightened as the brief voicemail came to an abrupt end, and he took a moment before looking up at Carisi. “You really thought I was in danger,” he said softly, not pitching it like a question, and Carisi just shrugged, feeling something like irritation prickle across his skin, irritation that he had been so worried, irritation that Barba had been fine all along, irritation that he had been so relieved that he had _kissed_ Barba and yet—

“Of course I thought you were in danger,” he huffed, shoving his runaway thoughts to the back of his mind. “You sent me that note with the whisky asking me to meet you there, so I just assumed…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing. “Why _weren’t_ you there?”

Barba sighed tiredly. “I assumed — perhaps incorrectly now — that if you had changed your mind and decided you did want to join me at the ball, you would text or call to let me know that. When I didn’t hear from you, I figured that you weren’t ready to forgive me, so I changed clothes and turned the TV on and evidently fell asleep until you banged on my door.”

Carisi was suddenly struck by the image of Barba sitting alone in his apartment, dressed impeccably in a tux, staring at his phone and waiting — hoping, even — for a text or a phone call that wouldn’t come. He swallowed, hard, and completely missed what Barba said next. “What?”

“What was the situation at the ball?” Barba repeated, his brow furrowed. “Who was injured? Did the hostage takers say why they did it, or what they were hoping to accomplish?”

“I dunno,” Carisi said, a little thrown by the question. “I was too busy looking for you.”

For a moment, something in Barba’s expression softened, but then he sighed and shook his head. “Well, you found me,” he said, with what sounded to Carisi like forced levity. “So now you can get back to the scene, or whatever.”

Carisi stared at him. “What?”

Barba looked at him evenly. “You found me, you verified I was ok, there is no further reason for you to be standing in my apartment.”

“Not even to give you an explanation for why I just shoved my tongue down your throat?”

Carisi hadn’t meant the words to come out as harshly as they did — he hadn’t honestly meant for this conversation to sound anything like this, or, frankly, to happen in the first place — and for a moment, Barba looked almost amused before his expression dropped to something much more serious. “I’m not asking you for an explanation, Detective.”

“And I’m not asking for your permission to tell you,” Carisi countered, taking a step closer to Barba. “When I thought you were—” He broke off, unwilling to say what he had thought, even now that he knew Barba was safe. “I promised myself that if you were ok, then I would finally tell you what I should’ve told you all along.”

Barba just shook his head. “You shouldn’t,” he said, his voice careful, measured. “It’s been an emotional night, and I frankly can’t imagine what you’ve gone through over the past few hours, though I’m sorry for what role I played in that. Either way, I don’t want you to say something that you’ll regret.”

Carisi stared at him. “I — that’s — what makes you think I’m gonna say something I regret?” he asked. “If anything, I regret not saying something earlier.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Barba’s face. “Earlier?” he asked, with a dry laugh. “Earlier, when your career would have been put in jeopardy had you refused 1PP’s request? Earlier, when Stockholm Syndrome took over after you were forced to spend so much time with me? I appreciate the sentiment, Detective, but don’t make this more than it was.”

Thoroughly nonplussed, Carisi opened his mouth to respond, but Barba ignored him, clearly on a roll as he paced through his living room, looking far more like he was in court picking apart a defendant's statement as he muttered, “I should’ve said no when the DA asked me because I knew you would get railroaded into this, but I figured, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s a few weeks, no one gets hurt, and you and I both advance our careers. But then _you_ happened, and suddenly it mattered if someone got hurt — it mattered if _you_ got hurt.”

He broke off, frustrated. “No, that’s a lie,” he said, more to himself than Carisi. “It’s always mattered if you got hurt. But that’s not the point.” He looked at Carisi again. “The point is, you didn’t choose this — but I did. And I knew going in what this was and what it had to be, but then you—”

Again he broke off, glaring at Carisi. “You’re infuriating, do you know that? Every time I tried to take a step back, to keep this a professional arrangement, you followed so eagerly and you made it impossible for me to pretend this wasn’t real.”

Carisi’s heart seemed to stop suddenly in his chest before starting up again in an erratic cadence as he gaped at Barba, who managed a small, almost grim smile before he sighed. “And the worst part was how with you, fake or otherwise, everything just seemed to fall into place. For the first time in my life, something felt _easy_ . And I don’t trust easy, because in my experience, life is complicated and difficult and messy, and you—” Barba paused, his expression unreadable. “You are none of those things. With you, I could see a future. I could see 2.5 kids and a dog and a white picket fence, but I couldn’t _want_ that, not when you were forced into this, not when this made your life immeasurably worse. Not when _I_ made your life immeasurably worse.”

“You still think I was forced into this?”

It was the first thing Carisi had managed to say in what felt like a good five minutes, and Barba gave him a look. “I know you were,” he said dismissively.

Carisi shook his head, unable to stop the amazed smile that spread across his face. “You asked me if I ever felt like I could say no.”

Barba frowned slightly. “And you said that you couldn’t,” he pointed out evenly.

“And I couldn’t,” Carisi said, just as evenly. “But not because I was forced into this. I couldn’t say no because there’s no world in which I would ever want to.”

Barba blinked. “You — what?” he asked.

Carisi was certain that he was now grinning like an idiot, mainly at having managed to temporarily reduce Barba to monosyllables, but also from the sheer joy that seemed to radiate throughout his entire body. “This was always real for me,” he said simply. “From the start. Forced into it or not, fake relationship or not, I’d never turn down the opportunity to date you.” He paused. “I just — I assumed you didn’t feel the same. But you've had my consent all along, Counselor, for whatever you'd be willing to give me.”

For a long moment, Barba just stared at Carisi, his expression unreadable. Then, so quickly that Carisi could barely follow it, Barba crossed to him, reached up to cup the base of Carisi’s skull and tugged him down to kiss him. Carisi practically melted into the kiss, opening his mouth against Barba’s and dropping his hands to Barba’s waist, running his thumbs first over, and then just under the waistband of Barba’s sweatpants.

Barba let out what might’ve been a growl, low in his throat, and pulled Carisi to the couch, practically shoving him down on it before following, slotting a leg between Carisi’s and loosening Carisi’s tie as they continued kissing. Carisi rucked Barba’s t-shirt up, revelling at the sight of his pale hands splayed against Barba’s faintly golden skin.

Then, abruptly, he pushed Barba away slightly. “Hey, hang on,” he said, half-smirking when Barba let out an indignant huff. “We need to actually finish this conversation.”

“Must we?” Barba griped, resting his forehead against Carisi’s for a moment before pulling away and shifting so that they were seated next to each other. He looked at Carisi expectantly. “Well, you’re the one who wanted to talk, so talk.”

Carisi was faintly glad, for just a brief moment, that Barba hadn’t lost his snarkiness in all of this. Not that he had expected him to, but — the last thing he had ever wanted was for _them_ to change after all of this. “I wanted everything I told my ma to be real,” he said, so abruptly that Barba blinked at him in confusion. “Everything we discussed, every memory and milestone we made up — I wanted it all to be true.”

Barba’s expression softened slightly. “Well, for what it’s worth, I lied in one of those answers,” he said.

Carisi just stared at him. “The entire thing was a lie,” he pointed out, but Barba shook his head.

“No, not just that,” he said, a touch of impatience in his voice. “When I said that I wouldn’t be able to last a whole year without telling you that I loved you...apparently I’ve been able to manage far longer than that.”

Carisi grinned again, and though Barba rolled his eyes at the look on Carisi’s face, he was smiling as well. Carisi ducked his head for a brief moment just to gather himself before he asked Barba, “So where do we go from here?” Barba looked rather pointedly at the door that Carisi assumed led to his bedroom and Carisi rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean,” he huffed.

Barba smirked and then shrugged. “Personally, I don’t know what you had in mind, but I would very much like to take you out on an actual date, no ulterior motive or public appearance required.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Carisi said casually, though his tone was belied by his widening grin, and he leaned in to kiss Barba once more before asking, “So what do we tell 1PP and 1 Hogan Place?”

“Well, the nice thing about this whole arrangement is that technically, we’ve already disclosed,” Barba said, still smirking. “So for my money, we say nothing and do whatever we want.” His eyes flickered down to Carisi’s lips then back up again. “So the only question that remains, Detective, is what do you want to do?”

Carisi wanted more than anything to kiss Barba again, but he had made a promise to God that if Barba was ok, he’d tell him everything he needed to, and Carisi figured it didn’t hurt after everything that had happened to honor that promise. So instead of answering Barba’s question, he said, feeling himself blush as he did, “I love you.” Barba stiffened but didn’t say anything, and Carisi’s smile turned almost wistful as he added, “I honest to God don’t know if I’d’ve ever been able to say that without all of this.”

Barba rolled his eyes. “Does that mean that I need to thank Chief Dodds and the Police Commissioner for bringing us together?” he asked sarcastically.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to send them a thank you note,” Carisi said mildly, grinning when Barba just rolled his eyes again and leaned in to kiss him.

Then, just when they were again getting to the good stuff, Barba beginning to unbutton the buttons on Carisi’s shirt, Carisi pulled away again. “Shit, Murphy,” he said, and Barba glared at him.

“Whatever you’re talking about, it better be a good reason for why—” he started, but Carisi cut him off.

“Officer Murphy drove me here. She’s probably sitting outside wondering what the hell happened to me. We’re lucky she’s a rookie and hasn’t thought to call in backup yet.”

Barba’s eyes darkened. “Let her wonder,” he said, tugging Carisi towards him to kiss him again.

This time, they were interrupted by both of their phones ringing simultaneously. “Shit, it’s Liv,” Carisi said, feeling a sudden wallop of guilt that he had completely forgotten to let Olivia know that Barba was safe.

Barba, meanwhile, answered his phone with a scowl. “Rita, this better be good.” His scowl softened somewhat. “Oh, you saw that on the news?”

“Lieu, hey, sorry,” Carisi said quickly, answering his own phone. “I completely forgot to call.”

“I assume Barba is fine?” Olivia asked, and Carisi couldn’t tell if it was just his own giddy mood affecting him, but he was pretty sure she sounded slightly amused.

“Uh, yeah,” Carisi said, swallowing hard because Barba, while maintaining a steady conversation with Rita Calhoun, had rested his free hand on Carisi’s thigh and the hand was slowly creeping upward. “Yeah, um, he’s fine, no issues. Do you need me at the scene?”

There was no mistaking the amusement in Olivia’s voice this time. “No, ESU’s just about got everything wrapped up, and besides, it's not an SVU case.”

“Great, great,” Carisi said distractedly, swallowing again because now Barba was undoing his belt with one hand. “Uh, cool, so I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He bit off a yelp as Barba unzipped his pants and said, all in a rush “Anyway, you should call Murphy and tell her to head back and I’ll talk to you later, bye.”

He hung up and glared at Barba, who just smirked and hung up on Rita mid-sentence before tossing his phone to the side and pulling Carisi to him.

The kiss this time was gentler, almost sweet, Barba cupping his face with both his hands, and Carisi felt all of the tension and the worry of not just the past few hours but the past few weeks finally dissipate, replaced by the warmth and happiness Carisi had always longed for.

This was everything he had ever wanted, and it tasted even sweeter than he could’ve imagined knowing that this was what Barba wanted, too.

After a long moment, it was Barba’s turn to pull away, a small smile on his face. “Shall we move this somewhere more comfortable?” he asked.

“That’s really the line you’re goin’ with?” Carisi teased. “I mean, c’mon, Counselor, I know we’ve been fake dating for several weeks now, but don’t tell me the romance is dead already.”

Barba rolled his eyes and stood, holding his hand out expectantly to Carisi. “I’ve been falling in love with you since the first time you asked me in that ridiculous accent of yours, ‘Am I right, Counselor?’.” He said it simply, the starkness of the statement emphasizing its sincerity, and Carisi gaped at him. “Romantic enough for you?”

Carisi took Barba’s hand and allowed him to pull him to his feet. “I think I can make that work,” he said, grinning, letting Barba pull him in the direction of the bedroom. He had a sudden thought. “Hey, wait.”

“I swear to God, if you delay this any more, I’m going to bed by myself,” Barba sighed exasperatedly.

Carisi gave him a look. “I just wanted to ask, did you ever figure out who told the _New York Journal_ about us in the first place?”

Barba just quirked an eyebrow at him. “That was seriously what you were thinking about?” Carisi shrugged and Barba sighed. “No, I never found out who, and frankly, I don’t care.” He raked his eyes rather deliberately down the full length Carisi’s body, smirking. “Though right now I should probably send them a gift basket in thanks for the article that did what I couldn’t bring myself to do on my own.”

And Carisi couldn’t stop himself from kissing Barba again, capturing Barba’s smirk with his mouth. The detective part of him still wanted to know who had lied to the _Journal_ , and why _._ But then again, he mused, as Barba finally got his shirt unbuttoned, maybe Barba had a point, after all — there were some mysteries better left unsolved.

Especially when, Carisi thought as he finally followed Barba into his bedroom, there were other mysteries so much more worth exploring in detail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a moment and thank everyone who's read this, especially all those who've commented and kudos'd and encouraged me along the way. I truly wouldn't have been able to do it without you.
> 
> I especially want to thank my partners in crime, tobeconspicuous and ahumanfemale, for their words of equal parts love and hate as they helped force me to stay on track with this. I also want to thank thesorceressfromthelake, who was kind enough to read over chapter 8 for me before I published it after I whined about it enough.
> 
> This thing has been a labor of love and a shitload of fun to write. Hopefully it was equally fun for you lovely folks to read as well <3


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